The Key to Salvation
by CaroH
Summary: Aramis is condemned for a crime he didn't commit.
1. Chapter 1

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter One**

"You have been found guilty of the crime of which you are accused. The sentence is five years in prison. Take him away."

TMTMTM

Athos entered the Bastille, passing easily through the security checkpoints, before arriving at his destination. The jailor unlocked the door to the cell and stood back.

"Fifteen minutes," he said gruffly.

Once Athos had stepped into the dark, dank cell the door was locked behind him. He heard Aramis before he got a clear view of him. His friend's cough was worsening and he saw the effort it took for Aramis to rise from his bed to greet him.

"A month already?" Aramis asked. His clothes hung from a body which was severely emaciated and his dark eyes seemed to dominate his thin face. His hair hung limply and was far longer than Athos was used to seeing. His normally immaculately trimmed beard was now bushy and uneven.

Athos walked forward and opened his arms. When Aramis all but fell into his embrace he could feel his friend's ribs under his hands. "How do you fare?" he asked.

Aramis pulled away reluctantly. In the lamplight his face looked grey, his normal tanned complexion overcome by the enforced darkness of his cell. "No better and no worse than the last time you visited."

"We continue our efforts to free you," Athos said.

Aramis looked at him sadly. "It has been ten months since I was condemned. If you were going to find any evidence of my innocence you would have done so by now."

"We will never give up."

"Whoever planted the Queen's necklace in my rooms was cunning and resourceful. You will never track them down." Aramis made his way back to the bed and sat wearily. He tired easily these days as his muscles weakened from lack of use and malnutrition.

"If we knew why you were chosen we might have a clue as to the culprit. Are you sure you can't think of anyone who would want to see you disgraced?"

"I wish I could, but no-one comes to mind." Aramis began to cough, his body wracked by tremors. Athos was immediately there to rub circles on his back in an effort to alleviate the symptoms. Once the fit had passed he surreptitiously wiped his eyes to rid himself of the tears that had accumulated there. "Tell me of Porthos and d'Artagnan. Are they well?"

"They are, although they miss you. Porthos has taken your confinement particularly hard. He throws himself into his work with an unwholesome enthusiasm."

"Tell him not to risk his health," Aramis begged. He feared that if anything happened to Porthos it would destroy him.

"I will."

"The Queen? The Dauphin?"

"Both are in good health." Athos didn't add that the Queen carried an air of melancholy around her. It would do Aramis no good to know that she missed him so badly. "Treville continues to petition the King for your release."

"The Captain is a good man although I fear he wastes his breath." Aramis' expression turned heartbreakingly sad when he heard the key turn in the lock. "It seems our time is at an end, my friend."

Athos gripped Aramis' shoulder. "Don't despair. We will get you out of here."

"I know you will try." There was no hope left in Aramis' soul. He didn't doubt that his friends would do everything possible for him but after so long without news he no longer believed that he would be spared the full extent of his punishment. His one solace was prayer and the belief that his God would never abandon him. It was the only thing keeping him from descending into the darkest desolation.

Each parting was harder than the last and, after Athos had left, he sank back onto the bed, hunched forward and miserable. Apart from his jailor he wouldn't see another living soul for a month. No news would come from the outside world. He would spend each day in isolation with only his bible for company. His hand sought it now, caressing the worn leather. The words of Psalm sixty-two came to his lips:

"For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation."

TMTMTM

Athos wasn't surprised to find Porthos and d'Artagnan waiting for him on his return to the garrison. He alone had been permitted to visit Aramis and even that was an indulgence which could be snatched away from them without warning.

"How is he?" d'Artagnan asked before Athos had even dismounted.

"He has given up hope," Athos said bluntly. "It is understandable."

"He thinks we have abandoned him?"

"No, Porthos, but he no longer believes we will find the true culprit."

"We 'ave to keep lookin'"

"We have tried everything. We have spoken to the guards and the servants and no-one saw anything unusual. The only thing they agreed on was that Aramis was seen near the Queen's chambers the day the necklace disappeared."

"Any one of us could have had a perfectly valid reason to be in that vicinity," d'Artagnan argued. "You know that."

"And, of itself, that wouldn't have been sufficient to condemn him. It was, however, enough for the King to order his rooms searched."

"One of the Red Guard could have secreted the necklace there."

"To what end, d'Artagnan? What would be their motive?"

"You almost sound as if you think he's guilty," Porthos said accusingly.

"I will never believe that Aramis stole the necklace but we need more than our faith in his innocence to clear his name."

"Perhaps one of the servants stole it."

"That is certainly a possibility but they would have had to be in the pay of someone else. If they had stolen it for themselves they would have broken it up and sold the stones." Athos sat down at the table in the yard. The emotions he felt when visiting Aramis always exhausted him. "We need to face facts, gentlemen. Aramis' best hope is for a pardon from the King."

"Even if Louis agrees he will never restore Aramis' commission. What would he do if he was released?" d'Artagnan sat next to his mentor.

"I fear he would leave Paris. Soldiering has been his life. If he cannot serve in the King's regiments he will have to seek out other employment."

"Become a mercenary?" Porthos asked. "Aramis fights for honour, not money."

"There will be few choices open to him." Athos sighed heavily. "It's pointless speculating. We are no nearer securing his release than we were when he was first arrested. D'Artagnan, do you still have the list of those on duty on the day?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then we will return to the beginning and see if we can root out the truth."

Tbc


	2. Chapter 2

I have to go back to work tomorrow so posting will slow down to once a week. I have hit a bit of a wall with Reconciliation but will continue with it as soon as my writer's block clears.

 **The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Two**

It was rare for sound to intrude upon his isolation. When he woke to the faint clamour of every church bell in Paris ringing he knew it was a special day. There were only two days in the year when all the bells rang in unison, Christmas and Easter Sunday. So, it was Easter. It had been a long time since he had tried to keep track of the days and months of his captivity. In his windowless cell it was almost impossible to distinguish night from day. Food was delivered twice a day, the only way for him to measure the passage of the endless days since he had been incarcerated.

He rose from his bed and knelt, hands clasped in prayer. They had taken his rosary beads away from him, claiming that, in the hands of a skilled Musketeer, they could be used as a weapon. It had been heart wrenching to be parted from them. They had been a gift from his parents when he took his first Communion so many years ago. At least his crucifix was safe with Athos. He hadn't dared risk bringing it with him, knowing it would only have been stolen by the guards. He bowed his head, lips moving soundlessly as he began to recite the words of the Easter Mass. Last year he had stood as a proud Musketeer in Notre Dame with the royal family. Now, he was alone and disgraced, stripped of his commission and his freedom.

The door opened to admit his jailor carrying a bowl filled with an inadequate amount of thin gruel. It was the standard morning fare, eagerly consumed despite its bland taste and unappealing texture. Today, though, Aramis ignored the man and the food, lost in the familiar cadences of the words of the service. A blow to side of the head jerked him abruptly from his reverie.

"Yer breakfast's 'ere," his jailor said, looming over him.

Aramis nodded, keeping his eyes downcast. He had learnt early on that showing any sign of defiance came with a price. How many times had he been beaten in those first few weeks? His pride had been no friend to him during those desperate days when he struggled with his loss of liberty. He inwardly cringed at how compliant he had become. His friends would no longer recognise him. When the door closed he scrambled to his feet, the moment of prayer and contemplation lost to him. The food was luke-warm and, in his previous life, he would have rejected it as inedible slop. Now it was the only thing keeping some semblance of life in his body. He cleared the bowl and picked up the cup of water that had been placed beside it. Water was even more precious than food and he carefully hoarded it to see him through to the evening. A couple of sips was all he allowed himself before placing the cup in a corner of the cell where it wouldn't accidentally be overturned.

He had retreated into the comfort of his bible when the door, unexpectedly, opened again. He looked up warily. Any change in routine usually didn't herald anything good.

"Give me yer hands." The jailor held out a set of shackles.

Aramis put the bible in his pocket, rose obediently and walked over to the door. His heart began to hammer painfully in his chest as he wondered what was going on. The cold metal snapped closed around his wrists, tethering his hands in front of his body.

"Come with me."

He trailed after the jailor, passing the other cells that lined the corridor. When they reached a flight of stairs and began to ascend he frowned. The man unlocked a door at the top and stepped out. Aramis instinctively ducked his head when the light of day hit his eyes, making them water. A cool wind wormed its way under his threadbare shirt and he began to cough, a harsh wet sound.

"Get in line."

He looked up cautiously, blinking frantically against the daylight. Even though it was cloudy it was still brighter than anything he had experienced for many months. There were, he discovered, a half dozen other man standing in a ragged line in the courtyard. He shuffled over to join them, still at a loss as to what was happening.

There was a gate about fifty yards in front of him. When it opened the yard abruptly filled with people. It was overwhelming after so long on his own and he was overcome with a sense of embarrassment that people should see him like this. He dropped his gaze, fixing it on the ground. There was the rumble of voices and then one voice that was dearer to him than his own life. Suddenly, in a rush of hope, he understood.

The Queen passed slowly along the line of prisoners, handing out a small purse of money and saying the words that granted freedom to the condemned. He swallowed harshly, overcome with self-loathing. He couldn't bear for the woman he loved to see him like this. There was the swish of her shirts and then she was standing in front of him. He kept his eyes down and head bowed, praying that she wouldn't recognise him.

"The King in his infinite mercy has granted you…." Her voice stuttered to a halt and he heard her sharp intake of breath. "Aramis."

Now, he had no option other than to look at her, feeling a flush start in his cheeks and neck. He saw the look of horror on her beautiful face and bowed awkwardly. "Your Majesty." His voice was rough from disuse and from the lump that had formed in his throat.

The Queen recovered her composure quicker than him. She pressed the money into his hand, her fingers lingering for a second too long before she stepped back. "You have been granted clemency," she said, her voice unsteady.

He nodded, unable to trust his voice and knowing it would be unseemly for him to address her further. Then, another thought struck him. If the Queen was here then she would have a Musketeer escort. She was walking away from him now so he scanned the courtyard. The first person he saw was Athos, who was watching him steadily. Next to him stood Captain Treville, who nodded in acknowledgement. He swung his gaze the other way and it alighted on Porthos, who looked torn between grinning broadly and wanting to hurt someone in retribution for all his suffering. D'Artagnan wasn't able to keep his emotions from his face. Aramis saw pity and shock. He wasn't surprised given his present condition.

He began to shiver as the wind increased in ferocity and then he felt the weight of a cloak settling across his shoulders.

"Get him out of these chains." Porthos voice was harshly demanding.

He didn't remove his eyes from his best friend's face until the shackles dropped away. It was only then that he realised he was wearing Porthos' blue cloak and fumbled to remove it. "I am not fit to wear this."

Porthos' hand closed around his own, warm and firm. "Nonsense. You have done nothin' wrong."

He nodded, unconvinced but pulled it closer round his body to warm himself. "It is good to see you, my friend."

He was pulled into a hug that left him breathless. Porthos stepped back and looked at him critically. "You're wastin' away. Time to get some good food into you."

Athos came to join them and rested a hand on Aramis' arm. "We will guard the Queen," he said to Porthos. "You should take our brother home."

That was when the reality of his situation struck Aramis as forcefully as a fist to the jaw. He had no home, no occupation. He looked at Athos, stricken.

"Don't worry," Athos said, correctly interpreting the look. "There is a room at the garrison for you as long as you need and the rest, well, we'll figure that out tomorrow. For today just enjoy your freedom."

The Queen was leaving so Athos had to hurry to her side but not before giving him a warm smile. Porthos slung an arm around Aramis' shoulders. "Athos is right. There's time enough to sort everythin' out."

"Yes." The cold air caught in his throat and he began to cough, bending over with the force of it. He felt Porthos tighten his hold. By the end he was feeling weak and unstable so he leaned into Porthos for support.

"Let's get out of this god-forsaken place," Porthos said.

Aramis, content to follow his friend's lead walked out into the streets of Paris.

Tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Three**

They were almost within sight of the garrison when Aramis' nerve failed him. He was, at Porthos' insistence, riding while Porthos walked beside him. Getting into the saddle had been difficult due to the weakness in his arms and legs but he had eventually managed it without help. He'd been aware of Porthos watching him and was grateful that his friend hadn't immediately offered to help even though he had seen the indecision on Porthos' face. He still had his pride although it was severely battered. Now though he felt overwhelmed by the thought of returning to the garrison. Even the act of riding through the crowded streets had proved to be more of an ordeal than he had expected. He was so used to solitude that the mass of humanity with its accompanying noise had been almost more than he could bear. He pulled on the reins and brought the horse to a standstill.

Porthos looked up at him quizzically. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know if I can face the other Musketeers," he admitted.

"No-one believed you to be guilty. They will be glad to see you."

Although he was heartened by Porthos' words he couldn't believe that no-one had harboured any doubts about his innocence. It was human nature to believe the worst of someone and he had been convicted after a trial in which the evidence had been utterly damning. "When did you know I was to be freed?"

"The King sent word to Treville this morning. Serge is cooking you a special meal and your room's been cleaned and aired out."

These small acts of kindness nearly reduced Aramis to tears and he had to turn his head away to avoid embarrassing himself. For ten months he had known only cruelty and deprivation so any consideration for his feelings was more than welcome.

Porthos urged the horse forward again and they were soon walking through the archway leading to the garrison courtyard. The few Musketeers not on duty watched him with the same pity he had seen on d'Artagnan's face. No doubt he made a pathetic sight in his ragged dirty clothes with greasy hair and a beard which had run riot. He slid from the horse which was taken away by one of the stable boys who couldn't look him in the eye. Porthos took his arm and led him over to the table. During their journey the sun had come out and it was now turning into a beautiful spring day. He was thankful that Porthos had thought to remain outdoors. He had spent too long locked away from the sun and fresh air.

"You must be hungry," Porthos said.

"My stomach will not be able to tolerate heavy food. Some broth would be welcome though."

"I'll be back in a minute." Porthos disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a bowl of broth and a chunk of fresh baked bread. He set it down in front of Aramis.

He found that his hand was trembling when he reached for the spoon and it was an act of will to steady it. In a flash of fear he wondered if he would ever regain the steadiness that had helped him to become a proficient marksman. Almost immediately he realised that it didn't matter. He no longer had a place in the regiment so his skill with firearms was unnecessary.

The first spoonful of the chicken and vegetable broth was heavenly and he nearly moaned with pleasure. He dipped the bread in the liquid and took a small mouthful, chewing carefully. He knew that he would make himself ill if he ate too much or too quickly so forced himself to moderation. After he had consumed half of the broth he could feel his stomach becoming uncomfortable and set the spoon down with a contented sigh.

"You need to eat more than that," Porthos grumbled.

"It will take time to build up my appetite again. Small meals at regular intervals will help." He ran a hand across his beard, grimacing with distaste. "I should like to be clean again," he said wistfully.

"That can be arranged. Go to the bath house. I'll bring you some fresh clothes."

There was no-one else in the bath house for which he was grateful. The large vats of water were kept warm by a constant fire and he picked up one of the buckets used to transfer the water to the tub. After hauling two loads he felt weak and lightheaded and sank down onto a bench. When Porthos arrived he took one look at his friend and took over the task. When the tub was full Porthos chivied him to his feet. He pulled his threadbare shirt over his head, faltering when he heard a deep growl from his friend.

"What did they do to you?" Porthos asked in horror.

Aramis looked down at his body, seeing for the first time how prominent his ribs were. "Food was not plentiful," he said. He reverently took his bible out and set it on the bench before removing the loose trousers and thin sandals that constituted standard prison issue clothing and stepping into the tub.

"Oh, dear God, that feels good." There were layers of ingrained dirt and grime on his skin which he attacked with a bar of soap. He had scrubbed himself red and raw before he was satisfied that he was as clean as he was going to get from one bath. The water had turned brown and was rapidly cooling before he dunked his head and worked lather into his hair. Once he rinsed it off he was ready to leave the almost sensual comfort of the water. Porthos held out a towel for him as he stepped out onto the warm flagstones.

When he was dry he put on his underclothes and then pulled on his breeches. It was abundantly clear how much weight he had lost when he had to fasten his belt several notches tighter than usual. Even his shirt seemed to swamp him. He left it loose to try and hide how thin he was.

"We'll send for the barber tomorrow," Porthos said.

Aramis towelled his hair dry, wishing he had something to tie it back out of his face. It fell now past his shoulders in a mass of unruly curls. "I would like that."

"You should rest before the others get back from the palace."

His hand shot out to grip Porthos' arm. "I don't want to be on my own. I have spent more than ten months without company."

"Then I will sit with you."

It was a strange experience to enter the room he had occupied as a Musketeer to find that nothing had changed. All his belongings were exactly where they he had left them. He crossed the room to close the window and then gazed longingly at the bed. Although it wasn't luxurious it was many times better than the hard pallet he had been sleeping on in prison.

"Why don't you lie down?" Porthos suggested. "I ain't goin' anywhere." He pulled over a chair and positioned it near the head of the bed where Aramis would be able to see him.

Aramis removed his shirt and boots and lay down. Since he had exerted himself more in the last few hours than in the past several months it didn't take long for him to fall asleep.

TMTMTM

"How is he?" Athos asked as soon as he entered Aramis' room. He kept his voice low to avoid disturbing his friend who looked very peaceful.

"He's a mess. Can hardly eat and I swear I can count every rib."

"He looks better," d'Artagnan observed. "At least he's clean."

"That was quite the process too. You should have seen the state of 'im."

"Treville would like to speak to him once he feels up to it."

"How did he persuade the King to release Aramis?" d'Artagnan quietly moved a chair so that he could sit beside Porthos.

"He won't tell me."

"All that matters is that he's home." Porthos glanced fondly at his slumbering brother.

"We will need to be gentle with him," Athos said. "He has endured a harsh ordeal from which he will not easily recover."

"It would help if we knew who set him up," d'Artagnan said. "Then at least he would have a future in the Musketeers to look forward to."

"We'll find the bastard who did this to him and when we do…"

"We will hand them over to the authorities," Athos said, correctly surmising that Porthos had something a little more painful and permanent in mind.

Porthos scowled at him. "Aramis deserves more than that."

"Perhaps so, but we are sworn to uphold the law. Aramis understands that."

"I've started to make enquiries about the servants who claim they saw Aramis in the Queen's chambers," d'Artagnan said hastily, trying to avert a disagreement between his two friends. "So far there is nothing unusual about any of them but two have left the Queen's service in the last few months. One still lives in the city. The other has returned to his village which is about two hours ride west."

"Did either of them suddenly come into money?" Athos asked.

"No-one has said anything but, if you had taken money to frame a Musketeer you wouldn't be boasting about it for fear of getting caught."

"That's true. You have done well, d'Artagnan." Athos smiled warmly at his protégé.

"So we look into these two, yeah?" Porthos said.

"We do. I will ask Treville to give us leave. Don't say anything to Aramis for now. We don't want to get his hopes up unnecessarily."

"He'll want to help," Porthos pointed out.

"He is hardly fit to be traipsing around the countryside." Athos looked fondly at their brother who still hadn't stirred. "I will sit with him for a while. With luck we will join you for supper."

"Make sure you're here when he wakes up," Porthos warned. "He isn't doin' well on his own."

"Don't worry, I won't leave his side."

After Porthos and d'Artagnan had left Athos sat down and, as he had done every day for the last ten months, he tried to think who might have a grudge against Aramis. "You have made a bitter enemy of someone, my friend. I just wish we knew who it was."

Tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Four**

When Aramis awoke he was disorientated. For a moment he thought he was back in his cell and that his release had been nothing more than a cruel dream. Then he felt a hand squeezing his shoulder and turned his head.

"Easy," Athos said. "You're safe."

"It's real," he mumbled. He stretched, feeling clean sheets against his skin.

"Yes it is."

He looked towards the window. "It's dark," he said in surprise.

"You've been asleep for hours. It's almost supper time. Do you feel up to joining us?"

"I think so." He pushed the blankets and sheet off his body and sat up.

Athos wordlessly handed him his shirt but his face said it all. His body was grotesquely emaciated. Aramis ducked his head in embarrassment and hastily donned the garment.

"It's not your fault," Athos said gently. "We will soon have you well."

A tickle started in his throat. He tried to hold back the cough but it overcame him anyway. Athos supported him while he swallowed the phlegm that had crawled up his throat.

"You need to see a doctor," Athos said once Aramis had regained his composure.

Aramis nodded weakly. "I will. I fear my lungs are congested."

"That's no surprise given the conditions you endured."

"Fresh air and good food will make all the difference," he said, determined to maintain a positive attitude.

"Maybe this will help." Athos reached into his pocket and pulled out Aramis' crucifix. He held it out to his friend who looked at it with wonder.

"I have missed this." He held out an unsteady hand and closed his fingers around the cross. He brought it to his lips to kiss before simply staring at it.

"Let me help you." Athos quickly fastened it around Aramis' neck where it lay against his sunken chest.

Aramis clutched it like a lifeline. "I never expected to be freed."

"It was a surprise to all of us, too. Now we must find the person responsible so that you can regain your commission."

Aramis looked away. "A fine idea, my friend, but likely unattainable. There is another choice." He glanced sideways at Athos, knowing his brother wouldn't like what he had to say. "I could enter the priesthood. It is what my parents always wanted and I studied for it from the time I was a small child. Of course that was before I met Isabelle and everything changed."

"Do not be too hasty."

"What option do I have?" he asked wearily. "You have searched for the culprit for almost a year without success. Despite my release I am still branded as a criminal. There is no place for me in the Musketeers and, without my brothers, I have no wish to become a mercenary soldier."

"It would be unwise to make any life-altering decisions until you are fully recovered. There is a place for you here as long as you need it. Treville will not turn you away."

"I am grateful to him, more than I can ever say, but I can't stay here forever. Besides, it is painful to see men wearing the uniform when I know I have no right to it."

"You are not guilty of any crime. In time the King will see that."

"I was convicted. That is all anyone needs to know."

"We can talk further in the next few days. Just promise me you won't make any decisions without speaking to us first."

"You have my word." He stood up. "I am ready."

They made their way to the refectory. Aramis was pleased to hear the many words of welcome he received. This truly was his home and these men his family. To leave the garrison permanently would be a painful wrench. They joined Porthos and d'Artagnan. The younger man jumped up to hug him.

"I didn't get a chance to welcome you back properly. It's good to see you, Aramis."

They sat and, a few minutes later, Serge appeared from the kitchen struggling under the weight of a platter of roast goose and vegetables. D'Artagnan got up to help him.

Aramis looked at the feast laid out before him. Even though he knew he could only eat a small amount he turned to Serge with a ghost of his former brilliant smile. He put his hand over his heart and bowed. "You are a Prince among men. How can I ever express my appreciation?"

Serge shuffled his feet, pleased by the compliment. "Least I could do," he said. "You need anything else you just ask me."

Athos poured wine while Porthos carved the goose. Mindful of what Aramis had told him earlier he laid two thin slices of meat on a plate and added a small portion of vegetables. Aramis nodded his thanks and took a drink of the wine. He savoured the flavour which was bursting with fruit.

"It's good to be back," he said with a catch in his voice.

It wasn't long before weariness overtook him and he excused himself, declining Porthos offer to spend the night sleeping on the floor of his room.

"It is enough to know that you are all near me." And, it was. He no longer felt alone and isolated. Before going to bed he went on his knees, bending his head and clutching his crucifix. He gave thanks to God and to his friends who would never abandon him.

TMTMTM

After an uninterrupted and dreamless night's sleep Aramis awoke feeling more rested than he had in months. He was warm and comfortable and in no hurry to get out of bed. Daylight streamed through the window and he could hear the sounds that indicated the Musketeers in the garrison were going about their daily business. After stretching lazily he got up, washed and dressed. When he pulled on his leather coat he was immediately aware of the lack of a pauldron but even that wasn't enough to sour his mood. He was free and would make the most of every minute. When he was overcome with a coughing fit he recalled his promise to Athos to see a doctor even though he had no reason to believe that any effective treatment was possible. Only time would return him to his former good health.

When he reached the yard he found it to be bustling although there was no sign of his friends. Breakfast was over. However, when he wandered into the kitchen Serge pressed him down onto a stool and served him with a thick creamy porridge sweetened with honey. He ate slowly, savouring every mouthful. Serge tutted at him when he didn't finish the entire bowl and he smiled in apology.

"If you keep feeding me like this my appetite will soon return," Aramis assured him.

"You be sure you come and see me whenever you get hungry," Serge said.

After eating he returned to the yard and sat in the sun watching men sparring and practising their hand-to-hand combat. From time to time someone would come over to greet him, staying for a while before returning to their duties. He was drowsing peacefully when someone sat beside him.

"How are you, Aramis?"

He opened his eyes and turned toward Treville. "I am being well looked after, Captain. Athos tells me that I owe you my freedom. There are no words to express my gratitude."

"I would have done the same for any of my men."

"How did you persuade the King?"

"By continually reminding him of your past loyalty and valour. You saved the Queen's life, Aramis. That isn't something that is easily forgotten."

"I sense there is more to the story. The King doesn't easily forgive transgressions."

Treville looked away, staring at two Musketeers who were practising sword drills. "He was wavering but not yet convinced and Rochefort was always whispering poison in his ear. It suited the Comte for you to be a disgraced Musketeer. So I used the last weapon in my armory. I reminded Louis that he owed you a debt because of what happened in Savoy."

Aramis looked startled. "You took a grave risk reminding him of the massacre. If he had reacted differently you could have lost your position here. It was a shameful act on the part of the King and he doesn't like being reminded of his mistakes."

"It was a risk I was willing to take. You were falsely imprisoned and Athos had told me how much you were suffering."

"Please don't put yourself in harm's way on my account again," Aramis begged. "I have my freedom. A return to the Musketeers is more than I dare dream of. Do not petition him for my reinstatement. It would give Rochefort every opportunity to attack you."

"We will discuss the future when you are well. Athos and the others haven't given up hope of proving your innocence."

"I am resigned to my fate, Captain. Once I have recovered my strength there will be no place for me here. I am almost resolved to retire to a monastery and dedicate my life to God."

"You're brothers will not be happy to hear that. They have just got you back and you talk of leaving them again."

"It is for the best. God has granted me a second chance. I shouldn't waste it." Even as he said the words he knew that wasn't what he wanted. More than anything he longed to regain his commission, to fight again at his brothers' side. He wasn't cut out for a peaceful life. Isabelle had been right. He wouldn't be happy but he could see no other ending. "If you will excuse me, Captain. It appears I still tire easily." He returned to his room with a heavy heart and lay down in solitude to ponder on the future.

Tbc


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter was a challenge as I continue to battle my writer's block. Aramis is about to do something very unwise which will lead to the revelations about who framed him. It will also lead to some whump in the next chapter. Please take the time to leave a review. I would find it very encouraging.

 **The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Five**

When Athos arrived back at the garrison his first thought was for the welfare of his friend. He scanned the yard, disappointed to find Aramis wasn't there. He dismounted and handed his horse over to the stable boy. He was just heading towards Aramis room when he heard a call.

"Athos."

He looked up to see Treville standing on his balcony. The Captain looked tired, raising Athos' concern. The King had been even more demanding that usual recently and most of the burden had fallen on Treville. He also had to contend with the tireless assault by Rochefort on the Musketeer regiment. Athos realised that he had been so focussed on Aramis' situation that he hadn't been giving as much support as usual to his commanding officer. His neglect shamed him.

"Where are Porthos and d'Artagnan?"

Athos sighed and approached the stairs. "Can we talk in your office?"

At Treville's nod he quickly climbed the stairs and followed the Captain inside. "Is something wrong?"

"No more than usual. Rochefort seems well on the way to convincing the King that we are incompetent. He is high in Louis' favour which makes him virtually untouchable."

"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?" Athos mused, not for the first time, that it would have been better for everyone if they had let the villagers hang Rochefort for murder. The man was a menace and a threat to the stability of France.

"Thank you for the offer but all we can do is perform our duties to the best of our ability. Eventually the King will see the truth."

Athos wasn't entirely convinced. Louis had never seen the duplicity of the Cardinal so how likely was he to turn against Rochefort? "How's Aramis?"

Treville shook his head. "Not coping well. He came out of his room for a while but I haven't seen him this afternoon."

Athos stood at ease with his hands loosely clasped behind his back. "I'm afraid we're going to lose him again." He allowed his concern to show, trusting Treville implicitly to see his vulnerability when it came to his friend.

"He was talking about entering the priesthood."

"Yes, he said that to me too." Athos' stomach clenched. It was not good news that Aramis was discussing his distressing thoughts with someone other than the inseparables. He was deeply afraid that his brother would talk himself into making a rash mistake.

"The only way to stop him is to get him back his commission."

"Which brings us to Porthos and d'Artagnan. They are following up on a lead. One of the Queen's former servants lives in the city. She left the Queen's service a couple of months ago. It might be connected to Aramis."

"I don't understand."

"We believe one of the servants was paid to steal the necklace and blame Aramis. This woman was one of those who reported seeing Aramis near the Queen's chambers. Now she has given up a good job at the palace. Porthos and d'Artagnan are investigating whether or not she has suddenly come into money. If that yields no results there is someone else but he lives about a half day's ride from Paris. I would request leave to go and speak to him."

Treville shook his head regretfully. "That will have to wait. The King has sent word that he wants to go hunting at Fontainebleau. We leave in the morning for at least three or four days."

"We can't leave Aramis on his own." Athos' fear increased. Aramis was unwell and seemed to care little for his own health. How would he fare if they were not here to watch over him?

"There is no option. The King must be protected."

Athos gave a curt nod to show he was not unmindful of their duty. "Then we must hope Porthos and d'Artagnan find something of use."

TMTMTM

The barber had been and gone. Aramis looked at his reflection in the mirror. Now that his hair had been cut and his beard trimmed and shaped the sunken nature of his features had become more prominent. Dull eyes stared back at him, their usual sparkle missing. His mouth twisted in self-loathing for the pathetic creature he had become. He stumbled back to his bed and lay down, having no energy to do anything else. He knew it was late afternoon and that his friends would soon be returning but he couldn't summon up the enthusiasm to go down to the yard to meet them.

A short time later there was a brief knock before the door opened and Athos walked in. Aramis sat up and offered a weak smile.

"You look more like yourself," Athos said. "Did you eat today?" He pulled over a chair and sat down.

"Breakfast."

"What about lunch?"

"I forgot," Aramis confessed. "It isn't easy to get back into a normal routine."

"Then we should go and speak to Serge. I'm sure he will give you something to tide you over until suppertime."

"Maybe later," he said wearily.

"I won't allow you to become a recluse," Athos said sharply. "Treville tells me you have been in this room for most of the day. That has to stop. You are no longer a prisoner."

Aramis flinched and felt a flush stain his cheeks. "I know."

Athos gripped his arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Think nothing of it." Aramis moved his arm away from the unintentionally bruising grip and Athos' hand fell away.

"We are worried about you."

"Perhaps it would be better if I stayed someplace else."

"This is your home."

"Not any longer. I have no right to be here. I can't live on the Captain's charity forever."

"What is really bothering you?" Athos asked, regarding his friend closely.

Aramis sighed. "I watched the men go about their normal routines and realised I have nothing to do. I have no duties to attend to and no orders to follow."

"You feel as if you have no value? You are wrong, Aramis. Once you are stronger Treville can find things for you to do and we'll start your training so that you regain your fitness."

"A priest does not need to wield a sword or fire a pistol."

"Would you really be happy if you never held a sword again?"

"How can I be happy without my commission?" Aramis blurted out before lowering his eyes in embarrassment. "No, my old life is over. It's time I accepted that."

Against his better judgement Athos knew he had to offer his friend a crumb of hope. "You remember the two servants who gave evidence against you?"

"It would be hard to forget them." His tone conveyed his bitterness although he couldn't fault them for telling the truth. He had been near the Queen's apartments hoping to catch a glimpse of his son. It was a risk he had taken far too often and was one of which he knew Athos didn't approve.

"Both have left the Queen's service." If Athos in any way condemned him for his reckless behaviour it didn't show in his voice. "D'Artagnan and Porthos are visiting one now. The other lives in the village of Provins."

"I must speak to them."

"That wouldn't be a good idea, Aramis."

"Why not?"

"They're hardly likely to talk to the man they helped convict."

Feeling more energised Aramis stood up. "We should see if Porthos and d'Artagnan have returned."

Athos acquiesced with a nod and they went down to the yard. Aramis' shoulders sagged when they didn't see any sign of their friends.

"Come and eat while we wait." Athos steered him into the refectory before fetching a plate of bread, cheese and cold ham.

Aramis had eaten no more than two mouthfuls before the door opened to admit their brothers. "Well?" he asked eagerly. "What did you find out?"

D'Artagnan looked at Athos with a raised eyebrow. "You told him?"

Athos grimaced. "Yes."

Porthos snagged a piece of cheese from Aramis' plate and sat next to him. "We spoke to Madame Dumond. She left her post after her husband was injured. He needs constant care and she doesn't have any children to help."

"How can they afford to live without money coming into the household?" Aramis asked, his food forgotten.

"She says she is being helped by friends and neighbours," d'Artagnan replied. "I'm not sure I believe her."

"Aye, she was hidin' somethin' alright." Porthos pushed the plate closer to Aramis. "Eat."

Aramis picked up a slice of bread and dutifully took a bite. "She told you nothing more?"

"She was frightened. Particularly when we told her you'd been released."

"She might talk to me."

"More likely she'd faint from fright if you turned up on her doorstep," d'Artagnan said.

"What about the other one?" Aramis thought for a moment. "Monsieur Lemaire?"

"She claimed to know nothing about him."

"Then we must question him."

"That will have to wait," Athos said sadly. "We have been ordered to accompany the King to Fontainebleau. You will not go alone," he added sternly. "We will handle it when we get back."

Aramis lowered his eyes. "As you wish."

"I mean it, Aramis. You're not fit to go riding all over the countryside."

"I agree with you, my friend. Don't worry."

Athos was relieved to hear Aramis acknowledge his frailty. "We will only be away for a few days."

Men started to gather for the evening meal. Aramis made a determined effort to eat enough to satisfy his friends. He returned to his room shortly afterwards, his stomach feeling unpleasantly full. The discomfort and his racing thoughts made it difficult to sleep.

The next morning he was in the yard to see them off, looking more cheerful than he had since his release. After they had gone he waited an hour before heading to the stables. "Can you saddle a horse for me?" he asked Jacques.

The boy nodded and hurried about his task.

"Where are you going?"

Aramis turned to find Serge standing behind him looking suspicious. "I have been cooped up so long that I feel the need to get out of the city for a while."

"Athos wouldn't approve."

"Athos isn't here. I will only be gone for the day." He did his best to look innocent.

"I'd better pack you some food then." Serge limped away to the kitchen.

By the time everything was ready Aramis was seething with impatience. He mounted with some difficulty, gripping the reins tightly. "I will see you this evening." He rode through the archway and onto the road that would take him to Provins.

Tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Six**

The journey was frustratingly slow with multiple stops to rest aching muscles. Whenever he dismounted Aramis had to adjust to the unfamiliar weight of his weapons belt. Travelling unarmed hadn't been an option even though he knew he wouldn't be able to hold his own if he was attacked. With a sharp pang he realised how much he missed the comforting presence of his brothers. They would be angry with him when they returned and found out what he had done but he hoped he would have evidence with which to placate them. He ate sparingly to blunt the edges of his hunger even though he was wound too tightly to have any real appetite.

The journey would have been pleasant if not for his frailty and a driving need to discover the truth. Wild flowers were blooming at the edges of the road and the air was filled with birdsong. Fields of grain were beginning to sprout while cattle grazed peacefully in the pastures. It should have been idyllic when compared to his accommodation for the last ten months. He tried to enjoy it, to feel gratitude for his freedom, but a dark cloud continued to hover over his future. This was his last chance to prove his innocence and he feared the outcome if he was unsuccessful.

He was sagging with weariness by the time the walls surrounding Provins came into view. He rode through the gate and onto the main street. After dismounting stiffly he leaned against his horse, his breaths shallow and uneven.

"Are you alright, Monsieur?"

Aramis pulled his aching body upright and removed his hat, giving the young woman his best attempt at a smile. "Thank you for your concern, Mademoiselle. I am merely weary from my journey." She returned his smile tentatively and, once again, he cursed his haggard appearance. "I seek the home of Monsieur Lemaire. Do you know him?"

Her smile brightened. "He is our innkeeper and Mayor. I can show you the way if you'd like."

"I would be most grateful."

She indicated their direction and set off. "You are a friend of Monsieur Lemaire?"

"We are acquainted. I knew him when he was in Paris. Has he been here long?"

"He arrived about three months ago."

"And purchased the inn?"

"Yes. It is a good business. Then a month ago he was elected as Mayor."

"Whose land is this?"

"The Baron Neuville. He is Monsieur Lemaire's patron."

The name meant nothing to Aramis but that wasn't really surprising. So many nobles frequented the Court that it was impossible to know them all by name.

"Here we are."

The building housing the inn was in good repair and the sign, showing a stag, looked to be freshly painted. Aramis' heart rate sped up with excitement. It was unlikely that a former servant could afford a place like this.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle." He raised his hat and bowed with a hand across his heart.

"You are welcome." Her smile was mildly flirtatious.

Aramis stood still as she walked away, unaccountably nervous now that he was so close to gaining the answers he sought. He shook his head, annoyed with himself for hesitating and entered the building. There were half a dozen tables and enough chairs for twenty but only two were occupied. Aramis stopped in the entrance and looked towards the bar. A large man stood behind it polishing glasses. The man looked up briefly.

"Have a seat. I will be with you in a minute."

Aramis walked to the table furthest from the bar and sat. He kept his hat on, brim pulled down to shadow his face.

"What can I get you?"

He raised his head and saw the man's welcoming smile falter.

The innkeeper stepped back, colliding heavily with a chair. "You're supposed to be in prison."

"The King pardoned me."

"Are you…are you here to kill me?"

Aramis raised an eyebrow and smiled unpleasantly. "Why would I want to do that? You just told the court what you saw."

Lemaire relaxed fractionally. "Then why are you here?"

"I want to know who really stole the necklace and I believe you know something about that."

"I swear I know nothing."

Aramis didn't believe him but kept his expression neutral. "Tell me about Baron Neuville."

Lemaire began to fidget. "What about him?"

"I'm told he's your patron. Why would a noble take an interest in a man like you?"

"I did him some small services while he was at Court."

"Services such as framing me for a crime I didn't commit?" Aramis asked, his grip on his temper fraying.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I think you should leave."

"That's not very hospitable of you. Anyone would think you had something to hide." Aramis removed his hat and laid it on the table. "I'll have a tankard of ale."

"Then you'll leave?"

"For the moment. However, I plan to return with some of my friends to continue this conversation."

Lemaire's face turned ashen and his eyes widened. He looked exactly like a deer cornered by the huntsmen's hounds. Aramis leaned back in his chair, his hand caressing the hilt of his sword. He watched the innkeeper closely as the man scuttled back to the bar to fetch the ale. He was more convinced than ever that Lemaire knew who had set him up.

The innkeeper's hands were shaking so much that he spilt a substantial amount of the ale while carrying the tankard back to the table. Aramis laid down a coin and lifted the tankard to his lips. The whole time he kept his glacial stare fixed on his prey. He sipped the ale, which was surprisingly good, while he tried to decide on his next move. He was reluctant to leave without a confession but had no leverage to make the man talk. Lemaire crossed the room to one of the other patrons, bending down to whisper in his ear. Shortly after that the man got up and left with a furtive look in Aramis' direction. He considered his options. If Lemaire had sent for help it was unlikely that he would be able to leave the village without being accosted so he decided to stay where he was.

He was on his second tankard and Lemaire, under his intense scrutiny, was sweating profusely by the time two men entered the tavern. They were well-dressed and armed with an impressive array of weaponry. Aramis forced down his apprehension, knowing that he could not win a fight if they chose to initiate one.

The men joined him at his table and sat without invitation. Both looked to be in their thirties and at the peak of their physical condition. The larger of the two had shoulder length brown hair and pale blue eyes. He was the first to speak.

"What's a Musketeer doing in these parts?"

Aramis gestured toward his shoulder. "What makes you think I'm a Musketeer? Do you see a pauldron?"

"A disgraced Musketeer then."

"You seem to be very well informed."

"Word travels."

"Does it? Somehow I doubt that unless you have some knowledge of how I came to lose my commission."

"You shouldn't have come here." The second man pushed a strand of dark hair out of his eyes and leaned forward threateningly.

"I can assure you it wasn't a pleasure trip. I have some business with your innkeeper."

"Your business is at an end. The Baron wishes to see you." The larger man stood up and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm afraid I must decline his kind invitation. It's time I was heading back to Paris."

"It wasn't an invitation." The dark haired man stood beside his colleague and drew his pistol. "Are you going to come quietly?"

"Oh, I doubt it." His heart was racing and the palms of his hands were damp but he would be damned before he showed any fear to these men.

"Get him up, Gerrard." The pistol was brandished in his direction.

Gerrard stepped forward and took hold of Aramis' left arm, hauling him to his feet. Despite his frailty Aramis lashed out, catching his opponent on the jaw. The force was pitiful so Gerrard only growled but his grip didn't slacken. As he was pulled forward Aramis tried unsuccessfully to wriggle free. Gerrard stopped and dropped his hand, only to make a fist and punch Aramis in the stomach. He doubled over, wheezing painfully. The hand was back on his arm, the pressure bruising. He felt his sword and then his main gauche being removed. He tried to catch his breath as he was dragged outside where two more men were waiting with the horses.

"You finished?" Gerrard asked.

He bowed his head, knowing that he was outnumbered and that any fight could only have one outcome. Nonetheless he looked up quickly with a sardonic smile. "What do you think?"

That was when the pistol connected with the back of his head and he fell senseless onto the ground.

Tbc


	7. Chapter 7

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Seven**

When Aramis regained consciousness he found he was in a dark windowless room. The hard packed earth floor made him think that he was in a cellar. He sat with his back against the wall until his headache reached a manageable level. Moving slowly and carefully he made his way around the walls until he reached the door. It was, unsurprisingly, locked. The conditions were horribly reminiscent of his time in prison. He wedged his body into a corner and shook uncontrollably. Eventually he was overcome with exhaustion and fell asleep. When he awoke some indeterminate time later nothing had changed. He was still locked in darkness.

Time passed slowly until he heard the sound of bolts being drawn back. He got to his feet, refusing to meet the threat from a position of weakness. The door opened allowing a dim light to filter into the room. He could make out the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway.

"The Baron's sent for you."

He didn't recognise the voice. With his head held high he walked towards the door. The man stepped back and he exited into a hallway. There were two men waiting for him, both heavily muscled and well-armed.

"This way."

He followed the man along the hallway with the second guard bringing up the rear. After climbing a flight of stairs they arrived on the ground floor level of a house. Now the guards flanked him, making escape impossible. In his weakened condition he wouldn't get ten feet before being recaptured. They entered a room dominated by a large dining table. A man sat at the far end, surrounded by food. The aroma turned Aramis' stomach and caused his headache to intensify. He was pulled to a standstill just inside the doorway.

The man, who Aramis assumed must be the Baron, continued to eat, sparing him no attention. Finally, after buttering a slice of bread the man looked up. Aramis studied him carefully, trying to decide if he had ever seen him before. The Baron looked to be no older than mid-thirties with dark brown hair and a neat beard and moustache. He wasn't at all familiar.

"You still don't know why you're here, do you?" the Baron asked. He took a bite of the bread, his eyes never leaving Aramis.

"Why don't you tell me?" A blow to the side of the head made his ears ring. He staggered slightly before regaining his balance.

"Keep your mouth shut until the Baron tells you to speak," the guard who had struck him growled menacingly.

A servant poured the Baron some ale and then stepped back keeping his eyes down cast.

"I was disappointed when I heard Louis had released you. Five years was a small enough punishment for what you did but to find you had gone free after less than a year was more than I could stomach."

Aramis kept his mouth shut, trying to avoid any further brutality. His legs were shaking with the effort of standing to attention and he felt faint from hunger and the after effects of the blow to his head.

"Tell me, Aramis, do you remember Louisa de Pavie? She was a lady in waiting to her Majesty."

Aramis felt a chill running down his back. "Yes." Louisa had been a high-spirited young woman who had caught his eye a couple of years previously. They had embarked on a passionate affair that lasted three months. Then she had disappeared from Court and he had never heard from her again.

The Baron pushed his chair back and stood up. He walked slowly down the length of the room until he was standing directly in front of Aramis. "She was my wife."

The sick feeling in his stomach worsened and he could feel the blood leaving his head. "I didn't know." The blow this time was to his side, causing him to clutch his ribs protectively.

"Did it ever occur to you to find out if she was married? Or didn't that matter to you?" The Baron didn't raise his voice but that didn't make his tone any less menacing.

Aramis looked at him speechlessly. Louisa had never mentioned a husband but neither had he asked her.

"She fell pregnant. Did you know that? That's why she came home, so that she could try and foist the bastard on me." He nodded to the guards.

Aramis felt his arms being pulled back but was too stunned to even struggle. Blow after blow rained down on his face and body. Blood spurted from his nose and trickled down the side of his mouth. He could feel one of his eyes swelling shut. His ribs and chest were a mass of bruises. He began to choke and the Baron held up a hand to stop the assault. By that stage Aramis was only upright thanks to the hands gripping his arms. He spat blood onto the expensive rug at his feet and raised his head.

"I sent men to Paris to find out who she had been whoring herself with. They found you. A common soldier daring to lay hands on a noble!"

"Where…where is she? What happened to the child?"

"I cast her aside, faithless trollop that she was. I heard later that she had given birth to a girl."

"I have a daughter?" he asked plaintively.

"No," the Baron said cruelly. "The child failed to thrive. It's buried in the village cemetery. Not that you'll ever get the chance to pay your respects."

Aramis' legs gave way and he hung limply in the arms of his captor. He couldn't catch his breath and began to feel even more lightheaded. The Baron backhanded him across the face. "Stand up and face me like a man."

"Louisa?" he stammered as he struggled to take his weight. He could feel tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

"Her reputation was in tatters so she went abroad. I've no idea where she is now."

"Why not just challenge me?" he asked weakly. He could only imagine the conditions in which she had given birth to their child. She had been thrown out of her home, her family would never have accepted her back, and she had likely been penniless. No wonder the child hadn't survived. He felt empty, too numb to grieve for the daughter he had never known. He thought fleetingly of the Dauphin, his son who he could never acknowledge and felt himself to be cursed.

"Why would I challenge a professional soldier? You would undoubtedly have prevailed. No, I found a different way to punish you and now the King has set you free," the Baron said angrily. "You haven't suffered enough for ruining my life. You should be locked away where you can't harm anyone else."

"You paid Lemaire to steal the Queen's necklace and hide it in my quarters."

"Yes. I knew you would lose your commission and receive a sentence of imprisonment. It seemed fitting to take away everything you held dear. I loved my wife." The Baron lashed out, catching Aramis on his chin. His head snapped back and his vision greyed.

"What happens now?" he asked once he could speak again.

"You still have four years of your sentence left to run."

"My friends will come looking for me."

"Do you think I am a fool? I have no intention of keeping you here. No, I intend to sell you to the Spanish. You can rot in the belly of one of their galleys."

Aramis looked at him in horror. "Galley slaves rarely last a year. You are condemning me to death." In his weakened condition he doubted he would survive a month. The conditions were brutal with starvation and floggings the norm. Sickness was endemic which was why the Spanish were always on the lookout for healthy men to conscript into their navy. Once he was chained to the oars his life would be over.

"Don't expect me to feel any sympathy for you," the Baron said coldly. "Lock him up. Move him tomorrow under cover of darkness."

As he was dragged away he caught a glimpse of the self-satisfied smirk on the Baron's face. Please, he prayed, let the others come soon. Yet he knew it was a false hope. By the time his brothers returned from the King's hunting trip he would have vanished into a hell from which he had no hope of escaping.

Tbc


	8. Chapter 8

My thanks to Deana who talked through the plot with me and helped me find my path.

 **The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Eight**

"How d'you think Aramis is copin' without us?" Porthos asked.

The three Musketeers were in their quarters at Fontainebleau. The King had retired early after a frustrating day of hunting claiming that he was suffering from a headache. It was a relief to be off duty after standing around watching the King and his guests ineffectually hunt deer for much of the day.

"I'm sure he's fine." Athos poured wine into their glasses. "After all, how much trouble can he get into in the garrison?"

"I'm more concerned by the fact that he no longer seems to have a care for his own well-being." D'Artagnan saluted his comrades with his glass before drinking.

"He needs to re-establish routines. I'm sure being around others will help with that."

"He forgets to eat." D'Artagnan ladled out the stew that had been prepared for their supper and handed out the bowls.

"Which is why I had a word with Serge before we left. He will make sure that Aramis eats regularly." The old cook had been only too happy to accede to Athos' request to keep an eye on Aramis.

"He's too thin," Porthos complained.

"Prison will do that to a man. It might take time but I am confident that physically he will be fine. I am more concerned about his emotional state."

"We still have that witness to interview." D'Artagnan broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in his stew.

"Yes, and I have hope that we will learn something positive." Athos took a mouthful of wine, savouring its quality. It was one of the advantages of staying in a royal palace. The wine was of the highest standard, far removed from the cheap alcohol that he was used to drinking. At one time he had been a connoisseur. Now he would consume whatever he could afford. "We have to be prepared, however, for disappointment."

"Aramis won't take it well if we learn nothin' new."

"I am aware of that, Porthos. What I don't know is how we persuade him to stay if he can't regain his commission."

"Is it fair to ask him to stay in those circumstances?"

"That's a good question, d'Artagnan. Are we being selfish in wanting him to remain at the garrison? It must be unbearably hard for him to see us go about our duties."

"You suggestin' we let him go." Porthos pushed his bowl away in irritation.

"It might be a kindness."

"No! I won't give up until we prove his innocence and persuade the King to restore his commission."

Athos couldn't fault Porthos' passion but they had to be realistic. If they learned nothing from the witness they were at the end of the road and it would be cruel to expect Aramis to stay. They would have to resign themselves to the loss of their brother even though it tore the heart out of them.

TMTMTM

Aramis huddled in a corner of his prison, his thoughts in turmoil. The prospect of becoming a galley slave was abhorrent but all he could think about was the loss of his daughter. A frail life had been created by his relationship with Louisa. He would like to think the child had been conceived in love but the truth was that he was incapable of loving anyone. He was a philanderer who moved from woman to woman without a pang of conscience. Yet he knew that he would have stood by her if he had known of her pregnancy. It hurt that she had not sought him out when she was cast aside by her husband. Somehow they would have made it work and the baby would have been born to parents that cared about her. Tears trickled down his face when he imagined the child, born in poverty, and dying without knowing the love of a father. He didn't even know how long she had lived. It could have been hours, or days or even weeks. That he would never get the chance to say goodbye was a heavy weight on his soul. He bent his head and said a prayer for his child. He wondered what Louisa had named her. She must have been baptised else she could not be buried in the churchyard. That was some comfort in his darkest hour.

The fact that this wasn't the first time he'd lost a child only added to his anguish. He had been so young when Isabelle miscarried and perhaps she had been right that there was some relief at not being forced to marry. There was, however, no sense of relief when he found he wasn't to be a father. He had recovered quickly from his distress as the young are wont to do. He had his whole life in front of him with the promise of excitement and adventure. He knew he wouldn't overcome his feelings of loss this time. He would carry them with him until the end, an end that appeared to be rapidly approaching. He would have liked to share the news with his brothers, to lean on them for support. Their absence hurt like an open wound.

His isolation wasn't, of itself, hard to bear. After all he was used to it. Meagre helpings of food arrived several times a day. He supposed the Baron didn't want him succumbing before he could make his profit from selling him to the Spanish. He ate what he was given. His hopes of surviving were almost non-existent but that didn't mean he wouldn't fight for every breath. He had heard stories of the hardships of rowing in the Spanish fleet. It was cruel unrelenting labour where no care was taken for the wellbeing of the captives. And, if he reached the Spanish ship, rescue would be nigh on impossible even if his friends discovered his fate before the ship left anchor.

He wrapped his arms around his body. The chill in the cellar had exacerbated his cough, which at times was so severe, that he feared vomiting the small amounts of food that he had consumed. It was impossible to ascertain the passing of the hours. On several occasions he fell asleep only to wake in a cold sweat as the reality of his fate came crashing down around him. His numerous bruises kept him company, throbbing in time to his heart beat. His left eye was swollen almost completely shut causing his vision to be distorted. He was physically and emotionally drained.

He was wretchedly weak when they came for him. His feeble efforts to defend himself resulted in mocking laughter and a punch in the side that left him retching. One of the guards held him still while another poured a vile concoction down his throat. He tried to resist, coughing and gagging on the liquid but his nose was held shut and he had no choice other than to swallow so that he could breathe. He recognised the taste. They were dosing him with a strong sleeping draught. It didn't take long for his senses to desert him. He wasn't aware of being lifted and placed in a wagon. Neither was he aware of the journey. Each time he started to rouse he was plied with more of the potion. He wasn't permitted to wake fully until just before they entered Le Havre by which time the sun was high in the sky and thunder clouds were massing on the horizon.

TMTMTM

It was approaching noon by the time the Musketeers arrived back at the garrison. The King had cut short his hunting party when he came down with a cold. For all the fuss he had made you would have thought he was dying. He had insisted on returning to the Louvre so that he could consult his personal physician. Athos, for one, was relieved. For all his positive words to his friends he was worried about Aramis so he was thankful they were getting back early. They had barely cleared the archway before Serge appeared. The old cook looked deeply troubled and Athos' stomach clenched with worry.

"What's wrong?" he asked, dismounting hastily.

"It's Aramis," Serge said. "He left here two days ago."

"Where did he go?" Athos asked sharply. He was aware of Porthos and d'Artagnan joining him.

"He said he was just going for a ride and that he'd be back before nightfall."

"You didn't try and stop him?" He took a deep breath to calm his fears. "No, of course not. It wasn't your place to do so. Don't worry. We will find him."

"Where could he have gone?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I can only think of one place. I believe he decided not to wait and went to Provins to talk to Monsieur Lemaire."

"Why would he do that?" Porthos asked, his concern masked by anger.

"Aramis never was very patient. The fact that he hasn't returned though does not bode well for what he found out. I will speak to Treville. We must set out to follow him."

"You think he has found trouble?"

"Almost certainly but we will find him and bring him home. D'Artagnan, arrange for fresh horses for us. Serge, can you pack enough food for two days?" He turned to Porthos. "I believe we need more pistols and shot. We could be riding straight into a fight."

"Anyone who's laid hands on him will have me to answer to," Porthos said aggressively.

Athos squeezed his shoulder. "They will answer to all of us. Come, gentlemen, we know what we have to do. I want to leave here within the next quarter of an hour." He headed for the stairs leading to Treville's office, a fear buried deep in his gut that they might arrive too late. Aramis wasn't fit to defend himself and, if he had stumbled upon the truth, there was at least one man with a motive to silence him for good.

Tbc


	9. Chapter 9

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Nine**

They were on the road within fifteen minutes with Treville's blessing. Once out of the city they urged their horses into a canter. Despite the urgency of their mission they had no choice but to slow to a walk after a while to avoid foundering their mounts. Conversation was kept to a minimum, each man solely focussed on recovering their lost brother. Athos silently cursed his friend's impetuosity in going off alone even though he could understand Aramis' motivation. This was the final chance to prove his innocence and, after being confined for ten months, it was not surprising that he would seek to do something proactive. Yet Athos fretted about Aramis' condition. He was not physically in good shape and would be unable to protect himself if he met trouble. The fact that he hadn't returned spoke volumes and he greatly feared that Aramis was in peril of his life.

They arrived in Provins in the late afternoon. The market in the main square was packing up as they dismounted. Athos hailed a man who was loading a cart with the remains of his produce.

"We seek Monsieur Lemaire."

The man turned and pointed to an inn on the edge of the square. "Y'll find him in there. He's the landlord."

Athos touched the brim of his hat. "Thank you." He put a hand out to stop Porthos. "I know you're worried about Aramis but I need you to keep your temper in check."

Porthos glowered at Athos' hand. "I'm not makin' any promises."

"Just remember that he can't tell us anything if you beat him unconscious."

Athos led the way to the inn which was doing good business. He immediately recognised Lemaire from Aramis' trial. The innkeeper was behind the bar dispensing drinks. Athos pushed through the crowd, his fierce scowl persuading the displaced patrons that it would be unwise to complain. He reached the bar and leaned over to grab Lemaire by the front of his shirt. The look of affronted surprise quickly changed to fear when he saw Athos' pauldron.

"Where is he?" Athos growled, knowing that his friends would have positioned themselves to guard his back.

The room had fallen silent and a space developed around the two men.

"Everyone get out," Porthos said menacingly.

"That's our Mayor you're manhandling," one of the braver patrons called.

"We are here on the King's business." D'Artagnan's voice was softer but still rang with authority.

Although people muttered amongst themselves no-one seemed inclined to challenge that.

Athos heard the sound of footsteps as the people began to leave. He tightened his grip on Lemaire. "I will ask you again. Where is Aramis?"

"I don't know."

Athos released him and turned to Porthos. "I think he needs an incentive to talk to us."

Porthos grinned and moved behind the bar. Lemaire cowered away but Porthos showed no interest in him. He picked up a bottle, looked at the label and then deliberately dropped it to the ground. The glass shattered and a pool of brown liquid formed in front of his feet. He moved along the bar and picked up a second bottle.

"What are you doing?" Lemaire asked anxiously.

Porthos ignored him, letting that bottle drop as well.

"Stop him!" Lemaire appealed to Athos who was watching with apparent disinterest.

Porthos turned his attention to one of the barrels of ale. He gripped the tap and yanked it out. Amber liquid began to pour over the floor.

"You can't do this," Lemaire shouted. "That's my livelihood you're ruining.

Athos held up a hand and Porthos leaned against the bar with his arms folded. "Are you ready to cooperate?"

Lemaire nodded sullenly.

"Good. I assume Aramis came here to talk to you. What happened to him?"

"The Baron's men took him."

"Baron?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Baron Neuville. These are his lands."

"Why would he be interested in Aramis?" The pieces started to fall into place in Athos' head but he still needed confirmation.

When Lemaire hesitated Porthos straightened up and began to eye the remaining stock.

"He's the one who paid me to steal the Queen's necklace," Lemaire said hurriedly. "I swear I didn't know what he had in mind. You're got to believe me."

"That's for a judge to decide, although if you testify against Neuville I will speak on your behalf," Athos said. He wasn't interested in the pawns. He wanted the man who had pulled the strings.

"Why Aramis?" Porthos asked.

"He didn't tell me. I knew nothing about it until he was arrested."

"Where can we find the Baron?" d'Artagnan asked.

"His manor house is a league south of the village."

"We will be back," Athos said. "Don't even think about running."

"Do you think he'll still be here when we return?" d'Artagnan asked as they went back to their horses.

"I don't know, but we have a more urgent task ahead of us. Now we know the Baron was behind the scheme even if we don't know why. He has over reached himself by taking Aramis and I fear his motivation. In addition to stealing the necklace he is now guilty of kidnapping and that carries a far more serious penalty. It is unlikely he will want to leave Aramis alive to testify against him."

It didn't take them long to reach the manor. The sun was already starting to set, painting the sky a vivid red. They were met at the door by a servant who led them to a lavish sitting room and bade them to wait. The three men remained standing with d'Artagnan wandering around the room restlessly. They were kept waiting for twenty minutes before the Baron entered with two of his men at his back.

"What brings the King's Musketeers to my door?"

Athos removed his hat and bowed. "My name is Athos. This is Porthos and d'Artagnan. We seek one of our companions and believe him to be here."

"There is no Musketeer here, I can assure you." The Baron walked over to a chair and sat, lounging back and perfectly relaxed.

"His name is Aramis. We were told that he was brought here by your men."

"That is true. He was causing trouble in the village and my men intervened."

"Where is he now?" Athos asked, keeping his tone as reasonable as he could.

"I have no idea. He was warned about his behaviour and sent on his way."

"You're lyin'," Porthos said aggressively.

The two men moved further into the room and laid their hands on the hilts of their swords. The Baron waved them away, not looking in the least disturbed by Porthos' outburst.

"I will have respect in my own home," the Baron said mildly. "If you don't believe me you have my leave the search the property."

"We'll do that," Athos said even though his heart sank. The offer would not have been made if Aramis were here. The obvious conclusion was that Aramis had been killed and his body disposed of but he refused to accept that.

They split up and searched every room before turning their attention to the stables and outbuildings. There was no sign that Aramis had ever been there. Athos saw his own fears reflected on his companions faces as they reconvened in the Baron's sitting room. The Baron was sitting where they had left him, sipping from a glass of wine.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked.

"We apologise for the inconvenience," Athos said through gritted teeth. His hands itched to beat the Baron to within an inch of his life and demand answers. He caught Porthos' eye and knew his friend felt the same. He shook his head, concerned by the mutinous expression and wanting to discourage precipitous and unwise action. "We will see ourselves out." He chivied Porthos and d'Artagnan out of the room.

"We can't just leave," d'Artagnan said.

"Yeah, he's hidin' somethin',"

"That is undoubtedly true but we have seen for ourselves that Aramis isn't here."

"Then, where is he?"

"I wish I had the answer, d'Artagnan. Perhaps the Baron is telling the truth. Aramis might already be back in Paris."

"You don't believe that."

Athos sighed. "No, I don't." He had laid his hands upon the reins of his horse when he heard a voice coming from behind him.

"Monsieur."

He turned to look, finally seeing a man beckoning from the shadows. "Stay here." He looked around to make sure they were not being observed before walking over. The man, one of the Baron's servants from the look of his clothes, wore a terrified expression and looked ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

"You seek the one named Aramis?"

"Yes. Have you seen him?"

"They took him." The man's eyes darted around, fearful of being caught talking to Athos.

"Took him where?"

"Le Havre. He is to be sold to the Spanish."

A tidal wave of fury swept through Athos and the man hurriedly stepped back. Athos fought for composure. "Thank you. Your assistance will not be forgotten."

The servant nodded and hurried away, quickly disappearing into the darkness. Athos found he was shaking with anger. The urge to confront the Baron warred with the urgent need to get on the road. He strode back to his friends and mounted his horse.

"What did he say?" Porthos asked.

"Aramis has been taken to Le Havre. The Baron has sold him as a galley slave to the Spanish."

"I'll kill the bastard," Porthos said, disgust and anger mingling in his voice.

"That will have to wait. We must get to Le Havre before the Spanish ship sails."

"What if we're too late?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos didn't answer. They all knew that if the ship sailed they would have lost their brother for good.

TMTMTM

They kept him out of sight in an abandoned warehouse until it was dark. Under the threat of a pistol he had no choice but to sit quietly. By the time they left the sky had darkened under more than just the falling of night. A howling wind was blowing and rain slapped them in their faces. As a port city Le Havre was never quiet but everyone still on the streets hurried along with their heads down, intent upon getting indoors. A knife was held against his side as they traversed the alleyways leading to the docks. There were many ships in the harbour but only one was flying the Spanish flag. Fear gripped him as they approached the gangplank and he looked around wildly for anyone who might help him. The knife cut through his shirt and pierced his skin.

"Behave," the man holding the knife said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. "You try anything and I'll gut you."

He couldn't make his legs obey him and stopped at the bottom of the gangplank. With a muttered oath his other guard grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. They stepped onto the ship to be met by a Spanish officer.

"What do you want?"

Aramis was pushed forward, stumbled and fell to his knees on the wet deck.

"We have something for you."

The officer sneered. "He looks weak."

"Don't be fooled. He was a Musketeer."

"A Musketeer?" There was interest in the Spaniard's voice.

A hand fisted in Aramis' hair and his head was pulled back. He let all his anger show. He understood now Porthos' hatred of the slave trade. He had always found it to be a cruel and despicable practice but, now that he was faced with the reality, he also recognised the soul-numbing terror. He had been a prisoner for ten months and knew what loss of liberty felt like. This was worse. He was being bartered like a horse and it shamed him. It also occurred to him belatedly that he was facing a new danger. As one of the King's elite guard he was privy to many secrets which the Spanish would pay dearly to access.

"Ah, I see it now," the officer said. "There is still a fire in him. He will not submit easily." He released Aramis' hair. "I like a challenge. How much do you want for him?"

A hand on his shoulder kept him on his knees while they haggled. The cold rain soaked through his shirt plastering the material to his body. He shivered despite his best efforts to repress it. Eventually the price was agreed at one hundred and twenty gold pieces, a staggering amount given his condition. Clearly his worth was in the information he possessed, not his ability to wield an oar. He was dragged to his feet and pushed towards two sailors.

"Put him in the hold with the others."

He fought then, fear and the need to escape sending a jolt of adrenaline through his body. Freedom was only a few steps away. It he could make it to the dock he was certain he could find allies who would protect him. He got in one good punch before he was beaten down. Shackles locked around his wrists and ankles before he was pushed towards a ladder leading to the bowels of the ship.

Tbc


	10. Chapter 10

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Ten**

It was the smell he noticed first; a combination of human waste, stale vomit and fear. He tripped down the last few steps, landing heavily on his hands and knees. The sailors wasted no time in hauling him to his feet and pushing him up against the bulkhead. A chain fastened to the wooden slats was looped through the shackles on his wrists and padlocked shut. There was enough slack for him to lie or sit but not to stand.

Even at anchor the boat was swaying uncomfortably as the wind whipped the sea into a frenzy. He had never been particularly fond of ships. The smell and the uneven movement conspired to unsettle his stomach. He found himself thankful for the fact that he hadn't eaten for twenty-four hours.

Lanterns hung at irregular intervals around the cavernous space. He counted a dozen more unfortunate souls all lost in contemplation of their fate. No-one spoke and he didn't feel like being the one to shatter the silence. He sat with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him while he examined his chains. They were too sturdy and tight for him to be able to slip them so he turned his attention to the fastening on the wall. The staple holding the chain in place was sunk deeply into the wood and no amount of tugging yielded any movement.

He leaned his head back and contemplated the ceiling which was bathed in shadow. Then he looked towards the stairs leading back up to the deck. The door at the top was closed, no doubt to keep the foul weather from invading the ship. His stomach continued to roil in time with the lurching of the vessel. He heard one of his fellow captives retching pitifully. The medic in him wanted to help but what aid could he offer even if he was free? They were in hell and there would be no reprieve.

After a while two men came down into the hold carrying plates and a cauldron. Portions of an unidentifiable stew were ladled out and placed beside each prisoner. They were given no utensils which meant that they were reduced to eating like animals. And that, he realised, was how they were perceived. His pride almost overcame his good sense. He watched his unwilling companions scooping up the stew with their hands and licking the plates clean. His jaw tightened rebelliously.

"You'd best eat it. There won't be any more until tomorrow night."

Aramis looked over at his nearest neighbour who had spoken and nodded unwillingly. He bent his head and dug his fingers into the food, finding it to be hot. It was bland fare but he choked it down, grateful at least for some heat in his belly. He was still dripping wet and so thoroughly chilled that he couldn't stop shivering.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

The young man, no older than d'Artagnan, shrugged his shoulders. "Two days. Maybe three. The ship was due to leave tonight but I'm guessing with this weather they'll choose to ride out the storm at anchor."

"You know something of ships?"

"I was a cabin boy when I was younger. Then I fell into bad company. I've got this gambling urge, see? Lost a lot of money to the wrong people. That's how I ended up here." He sounded resigned rather than angry.

Aramis finished his meal and set the plate aside. He wrapped his arms around his body, trying to generate some heat. "Where are we bound?"

"Don't know. The crew don't talk to us. We're nothing more than cattle to be transported from one place to another."

The food Aramis had just eaten was threatening to make a reappearance as the movements of the ship became more violent. He swallowed convulsively and held his breath until his stomach began to settle. He couldn't remember a time when he had felt so miserable and they hadn't even left port yet.

Their next visitors advanced on Aramis and pulled his to his feet. The chain securing him to the ship was unlocked and he was pushed towards the stairs. The instruction to get moving was given in Spanish. He feigned ignorance of the language and his lack of cooperation earned him a blow between the shoulder blades. The wind pounced on him the minute he stepped out onto the deck and he rocked backwards from its force. Rain was falling in a thick blanket making it almost impossible to see the pier. He was taken through another door into the main part of the ship. After being led along a corridor towards the stern he was pulled to a halt outside what he assumed to be the Captain's cabin. One of the sailors knocked, they were instructed to enter and Aramis found himself in the presence of the man who had bought him from the Baron's men.

"Wait outside," the Captain said to the sailors who had accompanied him.

"Aye, Sir." The door closed behind them.

The room reminded him a little of Treville's office. The Captain sat behind a desk strewn with charts and rolled up pieces of parchment. In one corner was a bed with a chest at its foot. Behind the desk was a bank of windows which looked out onto the storm. Light filled the cabin from storm lanterns dotted around the room. Aramis stifled a cough and waited.

"My name is Captain Ferdinand da Silva." He poured a glass of ruby red wine from a fine crystal decanter. "What is your name?"

Aramis considered the question from every angle before deciding that there was no reason not to answer. "Aramis."

"That is your given name?" Da Silva leaned back in his leather chair and watched him with predatory intensity.

"It is the name by which I am known in the Musketeers." The cabin was much warmer than the hold and Aramis could feel his shivering abating.

"How did you fall foul of men wishing you such ill will?" The captain must have seen the longing on Aramis' face for he took a sip of the wine and then smiled as he set the glass down again on the tabletop.

"That is my business."

"You no longer hold a commission in the Musketeer regiment?"

Aramis decided he had answered enough questions so didn't respond. He knew he was taking a risk. The Captain could easily call back the two sailors who were outside the door but that didn't seem to be his intent.

"Despite that you have much valuable information."

"I may not hold a commission but I am still a soldier. I will do my duty until the end."

"Then you will die under torture."

"That is as God wills."

"Perhaps you will survive to serve at the oars in his Most Christian Majesty's fleet."

"That's not much of an incentive to cooperate," Aramis said drily.

"You have spirit still. Yet I wonder how long you can hold out. Spymaster Vargas is exceptionally skilled at making men talk and you look as though you have already suffered hardship and depravation."

"I will die before I betray my country."

"We shall see. Now you will be returned to the hold. We will speak further of this once we are at sea."

"You waste your breath." Aramis staggered as the ship lurched. He caught his balance by latching onto the front edge of the desk. When he looked up he found da Silva watching him with amusement.

"You are not used to the ways of the sea. Do not worry, you will soon learn." He stood up and walked around the desk. "You are a great gift that I bring to my King." He opened the door and gestured for the sailors to enter. "Take him back and make sure he is secure. We would not want anything to happen to him."

Physical and mental exhaustion made Aramis drag his feet on the way back to his prison. He was again exposed to the elements as they made their way across the deck. Once back in the hold he was chained up and left to contemplate a terrifying future filled with pain and suffering.

Tbc


	11. Chapter 11

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Eleven**

Le Havre was four hours ride away in perfect conditions. When the weather began to deteriorate shortly after nightfall Athos knew it was going to take them a great deal longer to reach the city. They rode in silence and, every so often, he caught a glimpse of Porthos' face which was tight with rage. He could only imagine how his friend was feeling at learning the news. Porthos' mother had been a freed slave who had ended her life in the squalor of the Court of Miracles. Anyone who traded in human lives was anathema to the big man. He had already been forced to face his past when they dealt with Emile Bonnaire. That had provoked an outburst that was entirely out of character. Normally Porthos kept a tight rein on his emotions but there was no doubt in Athos' mind that he'd have killed Bonnaire if they hadn't been there to haul him off the man. Now the issue had raised its ugly head again in the most personal way possible.

The thought of Aramis being subjected to the horrors of slavery was chilling. What was really worrying him, though, was the risk the Spanish would find out they had their hands on a Musketeer. Relations between France and Spain were poor and could easily come to war. The knowledge held by a Musketeer would be invaluable to the Spanish war effort. It was an unthinkable dilemma. On one hand Aramis faced life as a galley slave. On the other he would be subjected to the most brutal torture to try and persuade him to impart his secrets.

They were riding into the ever increasing wind which blew torrents of rain into their faces making the horses skittish. The roadway turned into a stream of mud, slowing them even further.

"I can't see any ships putting to sea in this weather." He had to shout to make himself heard.

The only response he received from Porthos was a grunt.

"Do we have a plan?" d'Artagnan asked.

"We get on the ship, find Aramis and get off again," Porthos said, making it sound like the simplest endeavour in the world.

"The weather and the darkness will aid us." Athos shivered as rain water trickled down his collar.

"And we kill anyone who gets in our way," Porthos continued fiercely.

"I would like to avoid provoking a full scale war." He ignored Porthos' belligerent look. When the time came Porthos would follow orders and Athos would really like to rescue their brother without any casualties if possible.

They were soaked through by the time they came within sight of Le Havre. The streets were empty, unsurprising given the dire weather conditions. They reached the harbour without incident, left their horses tied to a post, and walked slowly down the row of ships. The flags were flapping wildly in the wind and visibility was appalling. Eventually they established that only one Spanish vessel was at anchor.

They retreated into a doorway from where they had a view of the ship. It was hard to make anything out. There was bound to be at least one man on watch but where was he? It was d'Artagnan who caught a glimpse of a lantern to the left of the gangplank. He strained his eyes and eventually made out the shape of a man swathed in oilskins and crouching down under a small awning.

"There." He pointed out the unmoving figure.

"I see him." Porthos stepped forward only to be stopped by Athos' hand.

"Remember, disable, don't kill. I don't want word reaching his Majesty that we attacked a Spanish ship."

Porthos gave a sharp nod and disappeared into the darkness. Athos counted to a hundred before following with d'Artagnan close behind him. They ran up the rain slick gangplank to find Porthos bent over a prone figure.

"He won't wake up for a while," Porthos said with a fierce grin.

"Let's hope no-one comes to relieve him," Athos said. He looked around until he spotted a door. "Let's see if that leads to the hold. Be on your guard." He drew his sword and quickly traversed the deck. The door was unlocked although it creaked when he eased it open. He froze, waiting to see if there was any reaction to the noise.

They all congregated on the stairs. "D'Artagnan, stay by the door and keep watch," Athos ordered. He could tell by the smell that they were in the right place. The air reeked of sweat and despair among other even less savoury smells.

He walked down the stairs with Porthos at his back. There were only a few lanterns still lit which meant that the bulk of the hold was in darkness. He could feel eyes following him but no-one spoke.

"Split up." He took the right side of the hold while Porthos took the left.

"Help us!" the plea came whispering out of the shadows.

Athos said nothing, just walked along his path peering into the faces of the men he passed. One man was curled up on the floor fast asleep. Athos sheathed his sword, grabbed a lantern and hunkered down. His entire body flooded with joy when he recognized his brother. That joy quickly abated and he almost cursed when he saw the mess that had been made of Aramis' face. He put a hand on Aramis' shoulder and shook him gently. Aramis startled awake, flinching back, his eyes wide with fear.

"It's alright," he said. "It's Athos. We're here to rescue you." He raised his voice. "Porthos. He's over here."

Aramis pushed himself up so that he was sitting hunched forward and looking disbelievingly into Athos' eyes. "How? How did you find me?"

"That isn't important. Let's see these chains."

Porthos pushed past Athos to embrace his friend, letting go quickly when Aramis hissed with pain. He pulled out his lock picks and got to work on the chain tethering Aramis to the wall. It dropped away quickly and he turned his attention to the shackles. "We'll need a hammer to remove the pins," he said. "Can you walk?"

"Yes. Wait. You have to release the others." Aramis saw the look that passed between Athos and Porthos. "We can't leave them here."

"Alright, but we can't be responsible for their well-being."

While Athos helped Aramis to stand Porthos went around unlocking the chains. The men gathered in the centre of the hold, waiting silently for instructions.

"Someone's coming!" d'Artagnan called. He descended two steps so that the door wouldn't strike him when it was opened.

"Get out of sight," Athos ordered and everyone quickly moved back into the shadows.

When the door opened d'Artagnan grabbed the unsuspecting sailor's arm and propelled him down the stairs. Porthos, waiting at the bottom, delivered a blow to the man's jaw that sent him flying backwards. He crashed to the ground and lay still.

"It's time to go," Athos said. He led the way up the stairs and waited for d'Artagnan to signal the all clear. "Go. Get out of here."

The former prisoners filed past him with words of heartfelt thanks and shuffled down the gangplank, quickly disappearing into the night.

He put them out of his mind. "Are you ready?" he asked Aramis, who was leaning heavily on Porthos.

"I'll manage."

They stepped out onto the deck but, before they could leave the ship, two men appeared out of the gloom.

"What is going on?" one asked in Spanish, looking at them suspiciously.

Neither man wore a sword but both had long knifes pushed through their belts.

Athos stepped in front of Aramis to shield him. "Porthos, get him off the ship. D'Artagnan and I will handle this." He drew his sword and took up a fighting stance.

The sailor opposite him drew his knife and lunged. Athos parried the blow and then his foot slipped due to a combination of the lurching vessel and wet wood under his feet. He fell to one knee, jarring his entire body. He raised his sword, blocking a blow that would have pierced his throat. He was back on his feet in an instant, peripherally aware of d'Artagnan fighting his own opponent. The sailor slashed with the knife, catching Athos on the arm. It was only a shallow cut and, in the heat of battle, he felt no pain. He went on the offensive, driving the man back across the deck. His opponent was not unskilled but he had the advantage of the length of his blade. With a flick of his wrist he disarmed the sailor, reversed his sword and brought the hilt crashing down on the man's head.

He spun quickly, seeing no other foes. It appeared that their brief battle had been unobserved. There was no sign of Porthos or Aramis and d'Artagnan was standing over his own downed opponent.

"Let's get out of here," Athos said.

They ran down the gangplank and onto the quay. He looked around for their friends, finally spotting them standing in the entrance to an alley. They hurried over and he could see that Aramis was on the verge of collapse.

"We have to find someplace to take shelter." He could hear raised voices coming from the direction of the ship and urged his companions to move deeper into the shadows. "The sooner we're away from here the safer we'll be."

They slid into the darkness, moving steadily away from the harbour. Porthos had an arm around Aramis' waist and was practically hauling his friend along beside him. D'Artagnan guarded the rear while Athos led the way. It was only once they had traversed several streets that Athos began to relax and look for someplace where they could spend the night and tend to their injured brother.

Tbc


	12. Chapter 12

The next chapter won't be posted for a couple of weeks. I am going on vacation and don't expect to have time to write. Thanks for reading and to those who send reviews.

 **The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Twelve**

It was well after midnight by the time they found a suitable inn. Fortunately Le Havre was a city that never slept so it was possible to acquire rooms at any hour of the day or night. Athos wanted them off the street. He didn't think the Spanish would risk a pursuit but wasn't willing to take any chances. Aramis was wrapped in Porthos' cloak. It concealed his shackles from curious eyes and provided meagre comfort against the wind and rain. With the hood pulled up it wasn't possible to see his facial bruising. Neither was it possible to tell what he was thinking. Athos was growing concerned about Aramis' apparent lack of relief now that his ordeal was over.

Porthos took the horses to the stables while d'Artagnan secured rooms for them. Athos and Aramis waited under an overhang of the roof until d'Artagnan appeared and beckoned to them. Aramis climbed the stairs awkwardly, the short chain between his ankles hampering his movements.

"I got us two rooms," d'Artagnan said, unlocking the first one.

There were two beds, a table and chairs and a wash stand in the sparsely furnished space. D'Artagnan lit the candles before turning his attention to the fire.

Athos untangled Aramis from the cloak and draped a blanket over his shoulders. They couldn't remove his shirt and breeches without destroying them while he remained tethered so it was the best they could do to warm him up. He looked pale and exhausted and there was no life in his eyes. It was as if he had retreated from them even though he was physically still present.

"Sit by the fire." Athos positioned a chair close to the hearth.

All three of them were soaked through. Athos stripped off his doublet and shirt and used a towel to dry himself. All the while Aramis sat hunched over and unresponsive.

"I'll fetch wine and food," d'Artagnan offered after exchanging a worried look with his mentor.

He left the room and the silence stretched uncomfortably between the two men.

"Lemaire confessed to stealing the Queen's necklace. That means we can petition the King for the return of your commission."

"I am not worthy to be a Musketeer," Aramis whispered, the first words he had spoken since leaving the ship.

"You're exhausted and hurt. We can discuss it later."

"There is nothing to discuss."

Athos looked with concern at the downcast dark head. Something had changed and he didn't think it was just a reaction to Aramis' relatively brief captivity.

The door opened to admit Porthos. He was carrying a mallet. "Found it in the stables. Let's get rid of those chains."

It was the work of a few moments to remove the pins anchoring the shackles. Aramis gave a sigh of relief when he was freed, glancing only briefly at the chafed skin around his wrists.

"Where are you hurt?" Athos asked.

"I have some bruising and abrasions. Nothing to be concerned about." He was staring into the flames, his expression sombre.

"I thought this would be a cause for celebration," Porthos said, looking nonplussed by Aramis' lack of reaction to his freedom.

Aramis finally turned his head to look at his friend and gave a brief smile. "Believe me when I say I am very grateful that you found me. Forgive me. It has been a tiring few days." He stood up stiffly and removed his damp shirt, wrapping the blanket more securely around his chest.

"D'Artagnan should be here with the food shortly. You will eat and then sleep. We will talk in the morning," Athos said decisively.

Aramis simply shrugged and returned to his chair. He made no attempt to meet their gaze and seemed to be mired in some troubling memory.

When d'Artagnan returned he was accompanied by one of the serving girls. They carried bowls of stew, bread and wine. The girl curtsied awkwardly before placing a tray on the table.

"Thank you," d'Artagnan said, earning himself a winsome smile and a faint blush.

Porthos pressed one of the bowls into Aramis' hands. "Eat."

Aramis did his best but the bowl was still half full when he set it aside. He accepted a glass of wine and sat staring into it.

"We should give thanks for the weather," d'Artagnan said. "We wouldn't have found it so easy to get on the ship if it had been a clear night."

"There would have been no ship," Aramis said quietly. "It was delayed leaving harbour by the storm."

"Did they know you were a Musketeer?" Athos asked, encouraged by the fact that Aramis was finally talking to them.

"Yes. I was to be a present for their spymaster, Vargas." Aramis took a sip of his wine before setting the glass down on the floor by his feet. "It is unlikely I would have lived long enough to be consigned to one of their galleys."

"Why would the Baron Neuville sell you to the Spanish?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis looked away, a faint flush staining his pale cheeks. "It is a long story and one that would be better told once we have all rested."

"Good idea," Porthos said. "I'll stay here with you. Athos and d'Artagnan can take the other room."

"One of us should stay on watch. I doubt if the Spanish want to start an international incident by openly pursuing their escaped prisoners but it is as well to be cautious. I will take first watch." Athos collected one of the chairs and opened the door. "I will be in the hallway if you need me."

"Wake me in two hours," d'Artagnan said. "You need sleep as much as the rest of us."

After Athos and d'Artagnan had left Aramis finished undressing and climbed into the bed closest to the window. He was still feeling chilled although the heat from the fire and the food had alleviated the worst of it. He burrowed under the covers, pulling the blankets up over his shoulders. He was aware of Porthos moving around getting ready for bed. Then, the candles were blown out and he was left in darkness. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He turned from his back onto his side and then onto his back again. No position was comfortable as every inch of his body was aching fiercely.

"You want to talk about it?" Porthos asked.

"Not really." Now that he was free his thoughts had turned again to his lost child. It was like an open wound that wouldn't heal. It was also intensely personal and he didn't know if he wanted to share it with his brothers. He knew they would offer comfort but what right had he to accept it? The child had lived and died because of his actions. He imagined what it would have been like to hold her in his arms. He had only held his son twice and each time he'd been struck by a fierce joy and an unfathomable love. If he'd known he could have acknowledged his daughter and, perhaps, prevented her death. She could have grown and flourished like a flower opening to the sun. Instead she lay in a cold grave with no-one to visit her. He squeezed his eyes shut to contain the tears that were threatening to flow.

"It's understandable that you're on edge."

Aramis suppressed a groan. Porthos had no way of knowing what he was feeling. "I guess I'm just overtired. It has been a trying few days."

"Why didn't you wait for us?"

He stared into the darkness in the direction of Porthos' bed. "I was impatient. Not, as it turns out, one of my better decisions."

"That's an understatement."

"How did you find me?"

"We leaned on Lemaire which led us to the Baron. He wasn't givin' anythin' away but one of his servants told us where you'd gone."

"It's fortunate that he did."

"Want to tell me what got the Baron so upset with you?"

Aramis swallowed, glad that Porthos couldn't see his face and that, in turn, he wouldn't have to look at the disappointment and disgust on the face of his best friend. How often had Porthos and Athos warned him that his romantic dalliances would end in disaster? He'd already caused Adele's death and put the Queen in terrible danger. In short, every relationship that had meant anything to him had ended in disaster. Uncomfortable though it was Porthos deserved the truth. "I made his wife pregnant."

Tbc


	13. Chapter 13

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

The silence lasted for a very long time. Aramis felt his anxiety increase with each beat of his heart. Porthos' opinion of him mattered too much for him to feel comfortable. Would his friend spurn him once the truth was told?

"Did you know she was married?"

"No."

"What about her pregnancy?"

"Not until the Baron told me."

"You believe him?"

"He has no reason to lie." It was something Aramis had considered. Could the Baron be lying to cause him pain, but he had rejected the notion. Having seen the man he could only believe in his sincerity.

"Where did you meet her?"

"I would prefer to tell the story once. Can this wait until the morning?" Aramis couldn't tell what Porthos was thinking. The questions had been asked dispassionately and in the dark he couldn't see his friend's expression.

"You're a father?"

"Tomorrow, Porthos." He was too tired to deal with either the sympathy or the abhorrence.

"If that's what you want."

Now he could hear disappointment and it was painful but he didn't have the strength to deal with it. "It is." He turned on his side and closed his eyes. He could hear Porthos moving around in bed, no doubt unsettled and dissatisfied with the half-story he had been given. Sleep was a long time in coming.

Aramis was the last to waken the next morning. The others were eating breakfast when he roused from a nightmare plagued sleep. He lay quietly for a while enjoying the feeling of safety and security. His face and body still ached and he inadvertently drew his friends' attention to him when he moved awkwardly and groaned.

"You're awake," Athos said. "Are you hungry? We have porridge and bread and cheese."

Aramis levered himself upright. "Some porridge will be sufficient." When he would have risen Athos gestured to him to stay where he was.

"You're not leaving that bed today. You need food and rest."

He accepted the bowl of porridge and got comfortable. "We should return to Provins."

"We need to talk about that. Porthos told us what you said last night."

He felt his stomach fall and his fragile appetite deserted him. "I was going to tell you."

"Eat first." Athos looked at him sternly.

He dipped his spoon into the porridge and choked down a mouthful.

"More than that."

Porthos sounded short tempered and he wondered how much sleep his friend had got after his revelations the night before. He ate some more even though the food tasted bland and unappetizing and his stomach churned unpleasantly. Eventually he couldn't bring himself to eat any more and set the bowl aside. He felt horribly vulnerable under the patient gazes of his three friends and had to hold himself still to prevent himself from squirming like a schoolboy.

"Is it true you got the Baroness pregnant?" Athos asked.

"Yes."

"I think you should tell us the rest."

"I met her in Paris. She was one of the Queen's ladies in waiting."

"You never mentioned her," d'Artagnan said, a faint note of accusation in his voice.

"It isn't my habit to kiss and tell. It began shortly after Adele left." His voice faltered. He had believed Adele had chosen the Cardinal and had been hurt by what he saw as her betrayal. He had never dreamed that she had actually fallen victim to Richelieu's possessive jealousy. "We saw each other when we could and then, one day, she was gone and I never heard from her again."

"She returned to the Baron?" Athos asked.

"He said she tried to pass the child off as his."

"I assume he didn't believe her."

Aramis looked at d'Artagnan, wondering how the young man could sound so censorious when he was also entangled with a married woman.

"He cast her off."

"What about the child?" Porthos asked.

In his weakness he couldn't prevent tears from forming although he did stop them falling. He turned away, unable to look at them while he imparted his news. "Louisa gave birth to a daughter. All the Baron would tell me is that the baby died. She is buried in the village cemetery. That is why I have to go back. I want to visit my daughter's grave."

"Oh, Aramis."

There was no condemnation in d'Artagnan's voice this time. The young man just sounded shocked and saddened.

"I deserve no sympathy. I wasn't with her when she needed me."

"How can you feel guilt for something that wasn't your fault?" Athos walked over and sat on the side of the bed. His earnest gaze bored into Aramis.

"I was responsible for her conception."

"But not for her death. We will return to Provins to pay our respects and then we will make the Baron pay for what he did to you."

"It is too late for that, Athos. He will only deny his part and the King will never take my word over that of a nobleman."

"Don't be so sure. With Lemaire's testimony and ours the King will see the truth of the matter." Athos patted him on the shoulder, a tangible sign of his unwavering care.

"I appreciate the support, my friends, but my mind is made up. I have much to atone for. I will retire to a monastery and dedicate the rest of my life to God."

"Is that really what you want?" Porthos asked, looking stricken.

"It is what I need to do." Aramis shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He was following his head rather than his heart. Given the choice he would have stayed with the Musketeers but he genuinely didn't think Louis would believe his story. With the regiment closed to him he had few options. Rationally he knew there was nothing he could have done to help Louisa. She had chosen not to come to him when she was cast aside. He didn't even know if it would have made a difference to his daughter's chances for survival. But he was so tired and heartsick and he needed peace in order to re-evaluate his life. This wasn't the first child he had lost and it was no easier than it had been when he was sixteen. He felt guilty that he would be abandoning the Queen and Dauphin. He had promised to be there to guard the child with all his heart and strength. It had been an easy promise to make and one which he now realised he couldn't fulfill. To be in the presence of his son was tearing him apart. It was just another sin for which he would have to beg God's forgiveness. He closed his eyes. He was tired and his injuries pained him. "I think I would like to rest now."

"We will leave you in peace. We should send a message to Treville to let him know you are safe." Athos stood up and walked back to the table.

"I'm stayin' on guard," Porthos said. "I don't trust those Spanish not to come lookin' for him."

"D'Artagnan and I will find a messenger and see about hiring Aramis a horse for the journey home. Do you think you will be able to travel tomorrow?" Athos looked doubtfully at his friend who had almost wilted in the bed.

Aramis made an effort to appear stronger than he felt. "I believe so. My injuries are painful but not serious."

"That's settled then. We will head for Provins and then back to Paris. Treville can send a contingent of Musketeers to arrest the Baron and Lemaire. Rest now. D'Artagnan and I won't be long."

Aramis acknowledged Athos' words with a brief nod before lying down and turning his back to his friends. He waited until they had all left the room. Then, his tears started to fall.

Tbc


	14. Chapter 14

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Fourteen**

The storm has washed the sky clear of clouds and the wind had died down by the time the Musketeers set out on their journey back to Paris. Aramis rode hunched and unresponsive, wrapped in a cloak against the early morning chill. By the time they reached Provins it was early afternoon and the sun was beating down on them enthusiastically. The small church was on the outskirts of the village on a small rise, close to a fast flowing river and just downstream from the mill. The cemetery was at the rear bordered by a meadow filled with blossoming purple and yellow wild flowers. It was a beautiful and peaceful location.

When Aramis made no move to dismount Athos and Porthos exchanged a concerned look.

"I will go and find the Priest," Athos said. He slid from his horse and walked up the path leading to the front door. The door was open so he stepped inside. There were pews on either side of the central aisle with seating for no more than thirty people. The windows high in the walls were of plain glass, nothing like the stained glass that adorned the many churches in Paris. The altar was a simple table covered with a gold embroidered white cloth on which two large brass candlesticks rested. It appeared that the Baron did not give generously for the upkeep of the church.

Athos didn't cross himself, having long ago renounced the idea of a god of love and forgiveness. He strode down the aisle towards a door to the left of the altar. He knocked and waited.

"Just a minute." The voice carried faintly through the heavy wood.

Athos removed his hat, not wishing to offend the Priest with any sign of disrespect. The man who opened the door was younger than Athos had expected, with an open and welcoming smile.

"It isn't often that we see strangers here. My name is Father Michel. How can I help you?"

"I am Athos of the King's Musketeers. I seek the grave of the child born to the Baroness."

"That is a strange request. May I ask why?"

Athos was in no mood for long explanations. "My friend is the baby's father. He wishes to pay his respects."

"Ah," Father Michel said. "So the Baron was correct. His wife was unfaithful."

Athos scowled at the Priest, not liking the note of censure in the man's voice. The last thing Aramis needed was to be rebuked by a man of the cloth. "Her grave?"

"Of course. Come with me."

They left the church to find that Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan had all dismounted. Aramis was standing by the low gate in the hedge leading to the cemetery, his gaze fixed on the neat rows of crosses. He turned when he heard footsteps and looked at the Priest with a haunted expression.

"You are the child's father?" Michel asked.

Aramis nodded, unable to formulate words to ask the questions that had plagued him ever since the Baron had revealed the truth.

Father Michel took his arm. "She was baptised Clara Jeanne." He opened the gate and urged Aramis to walk through. "She was born sickly and died when she was five days old." He led the way along one of the rows of graves, stopping at the far end. "This is her final resting place."

The mound of earth was tiny with a small wooden cross at the head. Aramis collapsed to his knees and bowed his head. His hand sought his crucifix which he brought to his lips.

Father Michel retraced his steps, joining the other three outside the graveyard. "Your friend needs solitude to grieve. Come, let me offer you some refreshment."

As they walked back towards the church Athos looked over his shoulder at the motionless figure. He would have stayed to keep watch but Father Michel touched his arm and shook his head. They entered the building, leaving Aramis alone with his daughter.

TMTMTM

Aramis wasn't aware of them leaving. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the grave. A few weeds were flourishing in the earth and he reached out to pluck them. His hand skimmed across the cold pitiless earth and his shoulders sagged as grief tore through him. His eyes though remained dry, itching with weariness.

"Clara," he whispered. Somehow knowing her name made the nightmare more real. "Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord. Let perpetual light shine on her. May she rest in peace." The familiar words calmed his racing heart. "I humbly pray Thee to show Thy mercy on the soul of your servant, Clara, whom Thou hast commanded to pass out of this world, that Thou wouldst place her in the region of peace and light. Through Christ our Lord. Amen."

He was silent for a long time after that, staring into the distance without seeing what was before his eyes. He tried, without success, to imagine her face. He couldn't conceive of the grief that her mother must have felt when she passed away. Too frail and precious a soul to survive the harsh realities of life. Finally he gave a deep sigh and rose to his feet.

"I love you, my daughter," he said. "Even though I never had the chance to hold you in my arms you will always live in my heart."

When he didn't see his friends he went inside the church. At the door he genuflected before walking up to the altar. He could hear voices coming from close by and found his way into the Priest's study. Father Michel smiled when he saw him.

"Welcome to our humble church, Aramis. Your friends have told me a little of the ordeals you have faced in recent months."

"Thank you, Father." He accepted a cup of wine before sitting next to Athos.

"It appears the Baron has much to answer for," the Priest continued. "He wasn't always a cruel man. His wife's infidelity hit him hard."

Aramis flushed and looked away.

"That is no excuse for what he did," Athos said. "To condemn a man to prison and then sell him to the Spanish is not the act of a good person."

"His actions were extreme," the Priest conceded. "What will happen to him now?"

"He'll be arrested," Porthos said. "With the testimony from us and Lemaire we hope to clear Aramis' name."

"You speak of Philippe Lemaire?"

Aramis looked curiously at Father Michel. "Yes."

"Then I am sorry to have to impart bad news. Monsieur Lemaire died yesterday. He fell down the steps leading to the cellar of the inn and broke his neck."

A chill ran through Aramis and he looked at Athos with an anguished expression.

"An accident?" Athos asked.

"So it seems. There were no witnesses." The Priest looked from one to the other. "You believe he was killed?"

"It's too much of a coincidence," d'Artagnan said. "The Baron knew Aramis had spoken to him and must have guessed that we had also questioned him. He is the only one to profit from Lemaire's death."

"There is no evidence to support your suspicions."

"Lemaire admitted to me that he had committed the crime of which I was accused. He told me that he was acting on the Baron's orders. His death has made it impossible to prove." This latest development only deepened Aramis' resolve to leave the secular life. The one thing that might have persuaded him to stay was the return of his commission and that was now firmly out of reach.

"We can't give up," Athos said. "You must tell the King everything you have learnt. The Baron will pay for his crimes."

"The nobility is untouchable. You know this." Aramis looked at the former Comte. Athos, out of all of them, understood the way things worked having been born to the life of a nobleman.

"Then we will consult with Treville." Athos drained his glass. "Thank you for your assistance, Father."

"Before we go I should like to make my confession," Aramis said.

Father Michel rose from his chair. "Come with me then, my son. May you leave with a lighter heart than when you arrived.

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan waited in the study while the two men returned to the church.

"What now?" d'Artagnan asked.

"We can prove that the Baron sold Aramis to the Spanish but that won't overturn the conviction. There has to be someone else who knows what Lemaire did. Without a commission we have no chance of persuading Aramis to stay and I'm not ready to abandon him to the monastic life." Athos frowned in thought. "I think it's time to go and have another talk with Madame Dumond. If she was hiding something from you it is likely to relate to the incident with the Queen's necklace. We are missing one link in the chain, gentlemen, and we will find it."

Tbc


	15. Chapter 15

With thanks to Issai.

 **The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Fifteen**

When Aramis returned he looked to be more at peace. He was still unhealthily pale and thin but some of the stress lines had left his face. Athos wished he had the same capacity to find solace in prayer.

"What now?" Aramis asked.

"We should set out for Paris. It's dangerous for you to be in Provins. The Baron might take it into his head to come after you if he knew you were here." Athos had no qualms about fighting the Baron's men but he didn't want to expose Aramis to more violence if it could be avoided. His friend was too frail to protect himself and would only be a hindrance if they were forced to fight for their lives.

"I've been thinking," d'Artagnan said. "We should search Lemaire's rooms. He might have left something of use."

"That would draw too much unwanted attention." Athos wanted very badly to be away from this place. It only held bad memories for Aramis and he had more than enough of those to contend with.

"It wouldn't take long," d'Artagnan argued. "We might find something to connect him to the Baron."

"He's right," Porthos said. "It'd be a shame to waste the opportunity."

"Did Lemaire leave any family?" Athos asked Father Michel who had followed Aramis back to the study.

"His wife died several years ago and they were childless. The inn has been boarded up until a new innkeeper can be found."

Athos caught d'Artagnan's pleading look and the corner of his mouth turned up in a semblance of a smile. "Very well. We get in and out as fast as possible. I want to be on the road to Paris within the hour."

Aramis clasped the Priest's hand. "Thank you, Father. Will you watch over my daughter for me?"

"I will tend her grave, Aramis. Do not worry."

They made a hasty farewell and rode quickly into the village. Those people that they passed watched them with curiosity and a little fear. When they reached the inn Porthos dismounted and strode up to the door. A plank of wood had been nailed across it to keep it secure. He reached out, grasped both ends and pulled. The nails loosened but didn't completely give up their hold. He grunted and tried again. This time the left edge of the wood came free and he quickly removed it completely. The door was locked so he took a couple of steps back and kicked it in.

"Subtle!" Athos grumbled. "We're not supposed to be attracting attention."

"I forgot my lock picks," Porthos said, supremely unrepentant. "Are you just goin' to stand around or shall we get on with it?"

Athos gave a long suffering sigh and walked inside. They searched the main floor first, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

"His rooms must be upstairs," Aramis said.

They found a connecting bedroom and parlour and two rooms for guests. Athos and Aramis searched the parlour while the other two stayed in the bedroom. Both rooms were sparsely furnished. Two chairs covered in a faded green brocade, a low table and a chest was all that were in the room Athos and Aramis were in and the dirty windows let in little light which hindered their search. The chest yielded a pair of silver candlesticks, sheets and blankets, and a small coin purse containing fifteen livres.

"He wasn't exactly rewarded handsomely for his dishonesty," Athos said, pouring the coins into the palm of his hand.

"He was able to purchase this inn. It was a good business. I would say he did alright." There was an edge of bitterness in Aramis' voice. While Lemaire had been living in relative comfort he had been rotting in the Bastille.

"Athos! Aramis!" D'Artagnan called excitedly.

They glanced at each other before hurrying to the bedroom. D'Artagnan waved a piece of parchment at them.

"I found this under the mattress. It's his confession."

Aramis grabbed the paper and held it to the meagre light from the window. The writing was childishly unformed and the spelling was atrocious but he worked his way through the letter. When he had finished he read it again, soundlessly mouthing the words. He handed it to Athos. "D'Artagnan's right. He confesses to stealing the necklace and putting it in my room. He makes no mention of a reason and doesn't name the Baron."

"The Baron will be punished for selling you to the Spanish. This…this is enough to get you a pardon." Athos looked at him excitedly. "It should also guarantee the return of your commission."

Aramis turned away. "I would like to clear my name. As for my commission, that is not something I seek."

"Surely you will take this opportunity to rejoin the Regiment?" d'Artagnan asked. "It was your life before…"

"Before I was imprisoned for a crime I didn't commit? I thought I deserved the benefit of the doubt after all my service but I was wrong. Why would I want to return to that life?" He sat down on the bed, worn out both physically and emotionally. He'd made his mind up, hadn't he? Joining a monastery and living a life of contemplation would be a pleasant change after risking his life for so many years as a soldier. At least that was what he tried to tell himself. Suddenly he found he had a profound wish to leave Provins behind. "Now that we have the evidence we should leave."

Athos folded up the parchment and put it in his doublet for safe-keeping. "If we go now we will be back in Paris before nightfall." He held out his hand to Aramis. "Come. It's time to go home."

Aramis gripped his hand weakly and allowed Athos to pull him to his feet. He felt lightheaded and sick so the prospect of riding for a couple of hours was not attractive. Not that he would admit his frailty to his brothers. He let the others go ahead of him so that they wouldn't see the death grip he kept on the bannister as he descended the stairs.

They returned to their horses and found that a small crowd had gathered around the inn. The matching scowls on Athos' and Porthos' faces stopped any questions the townsfolk might have had. Aramis leaned heavily against his mount while he summoned up the energy to haul himself into the saddle. He knew the others were watching him and could only imagine what they must be thinking. He was weak and out of shape and not fit to be a Musketeer.

They stopped after an hour to water the horses. Aramis knew that they had only stopped to give him a chance to rest. He ate some bread and cold chicken, washed down with a mouthful of wine. His stomach still filled far too easily and he was wracked with cramps from having forced down too much food.

He barely noticed when they reached the outskirts of the city. His injuries were paining him and he was concealing an almost overwhelming urge to be sick. Athos and Porthos had moved their horses as close to him as they could on either side and he knew they were worried that he might slip from the saddle.

It was a relief when the garrison came into sight and he urged his horse to a fast trot. They were greeted by Treville who looked relieved to see them safely back.

"I got your message," Treville said. "I take it you didn't encounter any more trouble?"

"No, we managed to avoid the Baron." Athos dismounted and moved to help Aramis, steadying him as he reached the ground. "We also found the evidence that will clear Aramis' name."

The buzzing in his ears was becoming more persistent and Aramis knew he had to lie down before he fell in an undignified head. "Excuse me." He walked unsteadily over to the stairs and ascended slowly. He knew that every eye was on him and it made him feel embarrassed. He needed the sanctuary of his room to rest and think.

"He doesn't look well," Treville said.

"He isn't." Athos handed his horse over to the stable boy. "Despite the evidence proving his innocence he still seems to be intent upon leaving."

"We can't allow that to happen," Porthos said.

"I don't see how we can stop him. We can hardly lock him in his room until he comes to his senses." Treville turned to Athos. "Will you let me take the evidence to the King?"

"Of course." Athos pulled out the letter and handed it to his Captain. "The man who stole the necklace is dead but this is his confession. Unfortunately he doesn't implicate the Baron."

"We have more than enough evidence of treason against that man. He put the safety of France in jeopardy by letting the Spanish get their hands on a Musketeer. Aramis might have lost his commission but he had knowledge that could have brought down the Monarchy."

"Will you ask the King to restore Aramis' commission?" d'Artagnan asked.

"It doesn't seem to be what he wants."

"Maybe not," Athos conceded. "It will, however, give him another option."

"He isn't fit for duty."

"We can get him ready," Porthos asserted fiercely. "He just needs to give us the chance to help him."

"I will do what I can. Go and get something to eat. I will take this to the King in the morning."

After Treville had gone they went into the refectory where the evening meal was being served. Serge limped up to them.

"You brought him back?"

"We did. Can you put together a tray for him? He's too tired to join us down here." Athos looked longingly at the wine. He was running out of ideas as to how to keep Aramis with them and the craving to drink himself into oblivion was powerful.

"Course I can."

Athos grabbed a flask of wine and a cup and sat at the nearest table. "Nothing we say seems to be getting through to him." He poured the wine and drank deeply.

"He's endured too much." D'Artagnan piled a plate full of ham and vegetables. "I don't know how much more he can take."

"He'll be better once he's stronger." Porthos sat down heavily. "Perhaps then he'll start to think more clearly."

They contemplated each other in silence. They wanted to be optimistic but everything that Aramis had said suggested that they were deluding themselves.

"One day at a time," Athos said decisively. "We encourage him to eat and rest, then in time we can reintroduce some training. Once he holds a sword and pistol again he'll remember what gave his life meaning."

"What happens if we can't persuade him?" d'Artagnan asked, his meal forgotten.

Athos poured more wine, his hand unsteady. "Then we've lost him."

Tbc


	16. Chapter 16

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Sixteen**

"The King has sent for the Baron Neuville. He will be arrested as soon as he arrives in Paris." Treville studied the faces of the men standing in front of him. D'Artagnan and Porthos looked happy at the news. Athos was as hard to read as ever and Aramis just looked dejected. "You understand that you will have to testify at his trial?"

Aramis looked at the ground. Beneath the bruises that marred his face his skin was pale. "Yes."

"He will tell the Court about your affair with his wife and the birth of the child. Are you prepared for that?"

"How can he be prepared?" Porthos asked aggressively. "Hasn't he been through enough?"

"If we want to see justice done Aramis has to face this," Athos said.

Treville continued to watch his most troublesome charge. Aramis was swaying slightly on his feet and he saw Athos move closer ready to intervene if necessary. "It will be an ordeal but at the end of it the Baron will be convicted of treason."

"I never wanted revenge," Aramis said in a low voice. "He had every right to blame me for the loss of his wife."

"He compromised the safety of the King and Queen by allowing you to fall into the hands of the Spanish. He deserves to be punished," Treville said.

"Not with his life."

"Aramis, he was responsible for the loss of ten months of your life. If we hadn't tracked you down you'd be in the hands of the Spanish spymaster being tortured for information." Athos looked beseechingly at his friend. "Surely you're not considering refusing to give evidence?"

Aramis looked up and met Treville's steady gaze. "I will do my duty," he said dully.

"I would expect nothing less." The Captain held out a roll of parchment. "The King accepted Lemaire's confession. This, if you want it, is the return of your commission."

Aramis shook his head. "I am not fit to be a Musketeer. After all, everything that happened is my fault. I have already made my decision. Once the trial is over I leave for the monastery at Douai where I will take my vows."

"You can't mean that?" d'Artagnan asked. "The King is offering you the chance to rejoin the regiment. How can you refuse?"

A sad smile graced Aramis' face. "How can I accept when I know I am not worthy?"

"We don't have to give the King your decision today. Take a few days to think it over." Treville put the parchment in a drawer in his desk. "I will keep this safe for you." He waved towards the door. "Dismissed. You three are back on duty tomorrow but today I suggest you all get some rest."

They filed out of the Captain's office and walked down the stairs to the yard. Aramis immediately sat down, looking exhausted by the brief time he had spent on his feet. D'Artagnan in contrast was bouncing with energy.

"Want to spar?" he asked Athos.

"Why not. We have been rather neglecting your education these last few days." Athos stepped out into the yard and drew his sword. "Let's see how much you remember of your last lesson."

As Aramis watched the beautiful and familiar dance he began to long for the joy of handling a sword. He swallowed hard and looked at Porthos who had taken a seat beside him. "D'Artagnan has the makings of becoming a master. I didn't realise how much he had improved while I was away."

"He's the only one who can keep up with Athos. He still has a tendency to let his heart rule his head but he's a formidable opponent now."

"Aramis," Athos called. "Come, save me from the enthusiasm of the young."

"I don't think…"

"Here," Porthos drew his sword and presented it to Aramis. "Some gentle exercise won't do you any harm."

Aramis hesitated before nodding and gripping the hilt. It felt natural to be holding a sword even after so long. He stood up and walked over to Athos. "Be gentle, my friend. My skills are not what they once were."

They saluted each other and dropped into a fighting stance. Aramis could feel his arm trembling with weakness and gritted his teeth. He made the first move and their swords touched. Immediately he stepped back and studied his opponent. He knew all of Athos' moves, which didn't mean he had any advantage. To counter them would take a strength and speed he knew he didn't possess.

"This is a bad idea," he said.

Athos attacked and he was forced to lift the blade to defend himself. He was driven backwards, his meagre strength fading quickly but something in him would not admit defeat. They traded blows and he could feel that Athos was going easy on him. Filled with annoyance he intensified his attack and was rewarded with a surprised look. All too soon, though, it was over. Athos disarmed him with ease and he stood breathing heavily, looking at the sword lying in the dust.

Porthos came over and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Didn't that feel good?"

"It was humiliating."

"Nah. Everyone loses to Athos."

Athos picked up the sword and handed it back to Porthos. "Your body still remembers the moves. Once you are stronger you will soon regain your expertise."

"To what end?" Aramis asked. "A monk has no need of a sword."

"Don't be so quick to reject the King's offer. We have time before the Baron's trial. Train with us. See what it feels like to wield a sword and fire a pistol. You need the exercise so why not work on skills you already possess?"

Athos' entreaty moved him more than he was willing to admit. "I will do as you ask. However, don't mistake that for any doubt about my decision." He leaned into Porthos' support. "I think I have exerted myself enough for one morning. Forgive me if I go and rest. I will join you for the noon meal." He pulled away from his friend and headed for the stairs.

Athos ran a hand over his face. "I'd say that was a victory."

"You really believe it will make him change his mind?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He is a born soldier. If we can just get him to remember what it was like I believe we have a chance."

"The trial will be hard on him," Porthos said.

"Yes. That is a concern. It will stir up all the bad memories again and could undo everything we achieve here."

"Then we will just have to be extra supportive. Maybe once he faces it all he'll see that hiding in a monastery isn't the answer."

"I don't think he sees it as hiding, d'Artagnan." Athos poured a cup of water. "He believes that he has to do penance for his affair with the Baroness. He thinks that he owes it to his dead child."

"He'll be miserable," Porthos said.

"Yes, he will. He has always believed in a benevolent God who forgives transgressions. We need to encourage him to accept forgiveness without sacrificing the rest of his life."

"At least we've got time. It will take a few days for the Baron to arrive in Paris and then there's likely to be a delay before the trial. He'll get stronger and become more immersed in the life of the garrison."

Athos nodded at his protégé. "That is my hope. We need to keep him busy. We will find a way to make him change his mind. Any other outcome is unthinkable."

"Are we bein' fair to him?" Porthos asked hesitantly.

"You think we should let him go?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. He seems dead set on it."

"He is weak and hurting emotionally. Secluding himself will do him no good. It will just give him time to brood on the loss of everything he held dear."

"He's always found comfort in the church." Porthos looked angry with himself that he was even suggesting this.

"And, he still can. He balanced his faith with his duties as a Musketeer for many years. He can do so again. Aramis is a social animal. The secluded life of a monk is not for him." Athos spoke decisively even though Porthos' words had sowed a seed of doubt in his mind. Did they have the right to sway Aramis from his chosen path?

Tbc


	17. Chapter 17

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Seventeen**

Lunch was cold chicken and ham with vegetables. Aramis ate with more enjoyment than in previous days. His short bout of exercise had increased his appetite although it was still a long way from being normal.

"I think I would like to practice my shooting," he said.

Surprise gave way to pleasure on the faces of his friends. He realised with a shock that it was the first time he had taken the initiative since being freed. Apart, of course, from his disastrous decision to ride out to confront Lemaire on his own. He entered the armoury in search of a pistol as all his weapons had been taken from him by the Baron's men. He found Treville there before him, squinting in the dim light at a sheaf of papers.

"Good afternoon, Captain."

"Ah, Aramis. I was wondering if you could help me. Rochefort has asked for a full inventory of all our weapons. These are the lists prepared last time we took stock of our supplies." He waved the pages in Aramis' direction. "We're stretched thin as it is so it's hard to take someone off their regular duties to do it."

"You would like me to check the weapons against the lists?"

"It's not very exciting," Treville said apologetically. "But it would be very helpful."

Aramis felt a warm glow at the thought of being useful. "It would be my pleasure."

"Good." Treville thrust the papers into Aramis' hand. "You can start tomorrow."

Aramis folded the papers and put them away in his coat. With Athos and the others returning to duty it would be a welcome relief to have something to take his mind off the impending trial. He walked over to the rack of pistols and looked them over. He knew they would all be clean and well maintained but he missed his own weapon. He thought longingly of the beautiful workmanship and the perfect balance. He wondered if the Baron had claimed it as his own or if it had been tossed aside and forgotten. With a sigh he selected one of the pistols before fetching a weapons belt, powder and shot.

When he returned to the yard he found that his friends had set up targets for him. He turned and took twenty paces. There were other Musketeers going about their daily business. All greeted him with a smile although none, to his relief, stopped to watch. He turned back towards the target, drew his pistol and began to load it. The movements were so ingrained that he didn't have to think about what he was doing. Even so, he found that it took longer than he was used to. Once he was ready he took up position and held out his arm. As he lined up the shot he could feel his arm trembling. His first shot clipped the edge of the target. His mouth tightened with annoyance and he reloaded. The second shot was better although still a long way from the centre.

Athos walked over to join him. "You are holding yourself too stiffly."

Aramis acknowledged the admonition with a curt nod. "My muscles are weak. It's the only way to keep my arm steady."

"We will devise exercises to build up your muscle strength. Try again."

Aramis loaded the pistol, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. As he breathed out he squeezed the trigger. This time the shot landed in one of the outer rings."

"Better," Athos said.

Aramis lowered his arm. "As you see I would be a liability as a Musketeer."

"You're being too hard on yourself. It has been a long time since you held a pistol. Many of our new recruits could not do as well as you have just done."

"It's been a long time since I was a recruit." Surprisingly he felt no bitterness. He knew that he needed to recover the strength in his arm and shoulder before he could regain his former accuracy. He could feel something stirring within him for the first time since his conviction. He tipped his face up to the sun, feeling the light breeze stir his hair. It was good to be free.

TMTMTM

Aramis entered the armoury straight after breakfast. It felt invigorating to have a purpose. Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan were all on duty at the palace so this gave him a way to get through the day without battling with boredom. He lit the lantern and laid the lists out on the desk. Their stock of weapons was extensive and he reckoned it would take several days to complete the task. He started with the largest items, the long pikes that lined the walls. After counting them carefully twice he pulled over a clean sheet of parchment and wrote the number.

Next were the swords. Before taking the tally he selected one for his own use and slipped it into the scabbard. Perhaps, if they got back before it went dark, Athos would agree to another match. He immediately reined in his enthusiastic thoughts. This would only make it harder when he had to leave. He had already sent word to the Abbot at Douai requesting permission to enter the monastery. Somehow that didn't bring him the comfort it once had.

Serge brought him lunch, a tasty lamb stew with crusty bread. He devoured it, only stopping when he felt the telltale twinge in his stomach. Shortly afterwards Treville came in to check on him, uttering complimentary words as he perused the results of the morning's work. When his shoulders started to ache from bending over for so long Aramis took a break. He wandered outside, surprised to see that the sun was already well past its zenith.

He was starting to feel claustrophobic from having been cooped up inside all day and decided to go for a ride. He declined the assistance of the stable boy and struggled to saddle his horse. It was good exercise to lift the heavy saddle and secure the girth. When he left the garrison he had no particular destination in mind. He walked the animal through the crowded streets then let it move into a trot when he reached a less densely populated area. He rode down a tree lined avenue, finally recognising that his route had brought him to the Louvre. After bringing the horse to a halt he sat and looked out over the formal gardens.

His thoughts turned to the Queen and the Dauphin. It was a beautiful day. Perhaps they were in the gardens enjoying the spring sunshine. He ached to see Anne and his son even though he knew that it was impossible. How his daughter Clara would have enjoyed a day like this. His mood soured. She had never been given the chance to feel the sun and the rain, to look at the moon and stars, to experience the simple pleasure of picking a flower and hearing the birds sing. What right did he have to enjoy such things when they had been denied to her? He turned away and rode back to the garrison.

Tbc


	18. Chapter 18

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Eighteen**

Athos knocked on Aramis' door and waited. When the door opened his friend immediately looked at the bundle he was carrying.

"What's that?"

"Can I come in?" Athos asked. When Aramis moved aside he entered the room and deposited the items on the bed. "Your pauldron, sash and cloak."

"Why? I've already told you that I can't accept the return of my commission."

"Sit," Athos said gently. He sat on the bed next to the pool of blue cloth. "It's time we discussed what happened." He held his peace until Aramis sat on the chair opposite. "Baron Neuville arrived at Court this evening. The King gave us the honour of arresting him. He has denied all the charges. We did not inform him of your rescue so he believes he is safe."

"What has that to do with these?" Aramis waved his hand in the direction of the bed.

"You are the only direct witness to what happened. We can testify about finding you aboard the Spanish ship but not how you came to be there. He will attack your character. Despite your pardon you were still a convicted criminal and some people will believe the worst of you. You were also stripped of your commission which makes you a disgraced former Musketeer. Refusing to accept a return to the regiment only reinforces that view."

"My character will not stand up to scrutiny. I seduced his wife and made her pregnant. I destroyed his marriage. How can I be anything other than a disgrace to the uniform?"

Athos could see the covetous glances towards the pauldron and pressed ahead with his arguments. "Think how much more compelling it would be for you to give evidence as a Musketeer. It is a clear sign that the King has accepted your innocence. Treville has already told him the full story. He could easily have withheld your commission despite your pardon."

Aramis went a little pale. "He knows everything?"

"It was the only way Treville could persuade him to lay charges. He had to explain the Baron's motive for abducting you."

He could imagine what his friend was thinking. What if the King had confided in the Queen? What would she think about the fact that he had fathered another child? "Look at me." Aramis' gaze remained fixed firmly on the floor. "Aramis, it is time you stopped blaming yourself and looked at the facts."

"I have."

"No. You have let your heart rule your head. Your relationship with the Baroness was fully consensual?"

A flush replaced the pallor. "Of course. I would never take a woman against her will."

"She chose to enter into your affair and she chose to keep you ignorant of her marital status. When she discovered she was pregnant she didn't turn to you. She returned to her husband. Even when he cast her aside she made no move to contact you. How is any of that your fault?"

"Every woman I have ever cared for has come to grief. If I hadn't looked at her, encouraged her, none of this would have happened."

"You exaggerate. Don't deny that you love the Queen, and she is well."

"But in danger because of what we did. If anyone were to discover the truth…" He broke off with a choked cry. "My lack of restraint has brought us here."

"What would you have done if you had known about the child?"

"I would have stood by her and provided for her as best I could."

"Yes, you would. Yet, the child would still have died." Athos knew he was taking a risk but this was something his brother needed to hear. "The priest told us that she was born sickly. He had given shelter to the Baroness, taken care of her. She was not living alone in some hovel. She had the best of care when her time came."

"This is true?" Aramis' face was filled with hope.

"I wouldn't lie to you about something so important. You could have done no more for her."

"I wasn't responsible for my daughter's death?" His eyes shone with unshed tears.

"There was nothing that could have saved her. I'm sorry." He stood up and crossed the room, leaning forward to rest both hands on Aramis' shoulders. "Let it go, Brother. There is nothing you could have done for either of them that would have made a difference. There wasn't anything the Baroness could have done either. It was fate that decreed the outcome, and fate can be cruel. Don't let it destroy the rest of your life." He straightened up and looked solemnly at his friend. "If it is truly your wish to retire to a monastery we will not stand in your way but I beg you to make the decision for the right reasons. I will leave you to think on what I have said."

Aramis reached out and caught Athos' hand. "Thank you."

"Get some rest. The trial is scheduled for tomorrow. The King is impatient to bring matters to a conclusion."

Aramis swallowed hard and nodded. "I will see you in the morning."

Athos left the pauldron, sash and cloak on the bed, encouraged by the fact that Aramis didn't tell him to remove them. He rejoined his other brothers in the yard feeling inexpressibly weary.

"Well?" Porthos asked.

"I don't know. We will find out in the morning."

TMTMTM

Aramis slept poorly having much on his mind. Well before dawn he rose from his bed and lit a candle. He walked over to the table and reached out to caress the leather of the pauldron. It had been his most prized possession and it was again within his grasp. He imagined what his life would be like if he went to Douai. It would be peaceful, full of contemplation and penance…and boredom. Yet, he still felt unworthy to wear the insignia of the King of France. He ran his fingers through the fringes of the sash and sighed. The King knew the truth and had still offered a commission. Was it due to guilt because he had been falsely condemned or remorse because of the events at Savoy? Was there really a way for him to find redemption without leaving the secular life? He yearned to accept the gift that he had been offered. Surely there was more than one way to dedicate his life to God. He could return to his post and devote all his energy to protecting God's anointed. Would it be a betrayal?

He walked over to the night stand and poured water into the bowl. He washed and fetched a clean shirt. Once he was dressed he returned to the table. His hand trembled as he reached out to the pauldron and he stopped just short of touching it. In his heart he knew the right decision. His God was a being of infinite mercy and he needed to find the strength to accept that. He drew in a shuddering breath and gripped the leather. He slid it up his arm and buckled it in place. Next, he wrapped the sash around his waist and secured his weapons belt. With each movement his resolve strengthened. After sliding his sword into its scabbard he picked up the cloak and draped it over his arm. He could feel that he was standing taller, prouder, now that he was back in uniform. The weight that had been resting on his shoulders seemed to have dissipated. He still had to face the trial, look the Baron in the eye and meet the accusations about his conduct but he would do it with his brothers by his side and a lighter heart.

He left his room and walked down the stairs to the yard. His friends were waiting for him and he saw their faces light up when they saw what he was wearing. He returned their smiles as he reached the table and laid down the cloak. He held out his arm and waited while three hands piled one on top of the other.

"All for one," he said with a hitch in his voice.

There was a brief pause as each looked at the others.

"And one for all." Three voices spoke in harmony.

Then he was being enfolded in their arms and he knew he was home.

Tbc


	19. Chapter 19

**The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Nineteen**

Aramis waited in the ante room protectively surrounded by his three brothers. When the door opened he gave each a warm smile before walking resolutely into the court. The look of shock on the Baron's face was the only sweet spot in what was certain to be an unrelentingly difficult day. He looked around the room. Because this was the trial of a nobleman the King has elected to preside over the proceedings. He sat in a heavily padded chair on a dais with a glass of wine and bowl of grapes on a small table to his right. Everyone else stood. Courtiers lined the walls; peacocks in blues and greens and every other conceivable hue. This was a novelty for them, something to brighten up their mundane lives.

He nodded to Treville who had been joined by Porthos and d'Artagnan. Athos, who was to give evidence, was not permitted to be in the court room. Rochefort had been appointed as the prosecutor, something that worried Aramis. The Captain of the Red Guard made no secret of his disdain for the Musketeer regiment and would happily exploit every opportunity to make mischief. A chaplain approached carrying a jewelled leather bound Bible. Aramis placed his right hand flat on its surface.

"The Baron Neuville has been charged with abducting and selling a French citizen to the Spanish. He has denied these charges." Rochefort turned to Aramis. "Do you swear to tell the truth of this matter?"

"I do."

"Tell the King why you visited the village of Provins."

Aramis cleared his throat and laced his fingers together behind his back to stop his hands shaking. He could imagine what impression he was making with his healing cuts and bruises and the fact that his uniform still hung loosely on his body. To be the centre of attention at such a time was unnerving. "I went to speak to a former servant of the Queen. I believed he had knowledge about the theft of the Queen's necklace."

"A crime for which you were tried and convicted." Rochefort was clearly savouring the moment.

Aramis' jaw tightened. "And pardoned."

Rochefort acknowledged that with a slight nod. "Go on."

"I was apprehended by the Baron's men and taken to his chateau."

"They used force?"

"I was rendered unconscious."

"He was arrested for causing a disturbance and subdued when he refused to come quietly. He was brought before me for judgement as is my right," the Baron said heatedly. "You can't deny that on my own land I am the law."

"You will have your chance to speak," Rochefort said with a sneer. He waved a hand towards Aramis to indicate he should continue.

"I was locked in a cellar. At some time later I was taken to the Baron."

"Did he explain why you had been treated in this manner?"

Aramis hesitated and glanced quickly at his friends for support. The strain he felt was clear on their faces also.

"He was angry that I had been released from prison. He admitted he had been the one to frame me for the theft."

"Did he say why?" Rochefort, who was clearly privy to the truth, asked in honeyed tones.

Aramis raised his eyes to meet Rochefort's gaze. The man was enjoying himself far too much. "He said I had been intimate with his wife."

A wave of sound came from the watching masses. He could hear some of the less than subtle comments and felt heat rise in his cheeks. It wasn't only his reputation that was being damaged. Louisa, too, was being defamed by shallow men and women who were listening to the evidence. He looked at Porthos, concerned about his friend's temper. The large man had his hands balled into fists and was only being restrained by Treville's hand on his arm. Despite that, the Captain looked murderous in his own right.

"A common soldier sleeping with a daughter of the nobility?" Rochefort said with apparent distaste. "Shocking."

Treville stepped forward angrily. "Aramis is not the one on trial here."

"Calm yourself, Treville." The King took a sip of his wine and lounged back in his chair. "We will hear the evidence and render a fair and impartial judgement."

"Tell them the rest," the Baron growled menacingly. The two Red Guard behind him moved fractionally closer, ready to intervene if necessary.

Aramis could feel his shoulders slumping and made an effort to straighten up. "He said I had made her pregnant."

"Do you deny the accusation?" Rochefort was watching him like a predator.

"No." It came out as a strangled whisper. Aramis could feel sweat forming on his forehead. The strain of his testimony and standing for so long with his injuries and general debility was proving to be challenging. He felt the warm air pressing in on him uncomfortably.

"Speak louder," Rochefort ordered.

There was a long pause while he struggled to find his composure. "No, I do not deny the accusation."

"You have a child?"

Aramis glared at the man who was deliberately tormenting him. "She died."

"A tragedy I'm sure. Or, maybe it was a relief."

Aramis looked at him in appalled silence.

Treville again intervened. "Your Majesty, we are moving away from the point of the trial."

"Yes. Yes. Rochefort hurry things along. My time is valuable."

Rochefort turned and bowed to the King before returning his attention to Aramis. "What happened next?"

"His men beat me and locked me up again. The next day I was drugged, taken to Le Havre and sold to a Spanish sea captain."

"For what purpose?"

"Initially as a galley slave then he found out I had been a Musketeer. I was to be taken to Spain and handed over to their spymaster." Aramis' gaze hardened. "I believe you experienced his 'hospitality'". He was rewarded with a look of anguish although it was quickly hidden. Rochefort knew very well what fate had awaited him in Madrid.

"But you were more fortunate than I. Your colleagues staged a rescue."

"Yes."

"You would believe the word of a disgraced soldier over mine?" the Baron shouted.

"Silence," the King ordered. "As you can see Aramis again wears the uniform of a Musketeer. He is an honorable man who has been ill-used."

The Baron subsided, a trace of fear creeping onto his face for the first time.

Tbc


	20. Chapter 20

This is the final chapter. Thank you for taking this difficult journey with me.

 **The Key to Salvation**

 **Chapter Twenty**

Athos paced impatiently from one end of the ante chamber to another. It had been an interminable wait since Aramis had been called to testify and it was tearing him apart that he wasn't there to support his brother. By the time the door opened again he was so wound up that he was ready to explode. He strode angrily into the court room, his fierce glare immediately settling on Baron Neuville, the man responsible for all Aramis' woes. The Baron's gaze skittered away uneasily.

He sought Aramis, finding his friend standing between Porthos and d'Artagnan looking pale and shaky. His eyes narrowed as his anger peaked. Then he was being distracted by the need to swear an oath which he did tersely. He took a couple of deep breaths and looked at Rochefort. He could imagine how much pleasure this was giving the Comte, who had seemingly embarked on a crusade to destroy the Musketeer regiment.

"We have heard Aramis' version of events," Rochefort said in a tone of voice that indicated he didn't believe a word of what had gone before. "Tell the King of your involvement."

"We arrived back at the garrison after the King's hunting trip to find that Aramis was missing. It seemed likely that he had gone to Provins to speak to Lemaire, the Queen's former servant."

"You followed him?"

"We did. Lemaire confessed that he had stolen the Queen's necklace and told us it had been on the orders of Baron Neuville."

"This is nothing more than hearsay," the Baron interrupted. "Where is this man, Lemaire?"

Athos' glare intensified. "He's dead, as you are very well aware."

"I am not kept informed of all deaths among the peasants," Neuville said with a smirk.

"His death is unfortunate. Is there any tangible evidence?" Rochefort asked.

"He left a written confession."

"Did he implicate the Baron?"

Athos licked his lips and glanced at his friends. Aramis was leaning against Porthos and looked ready to collapse. "No, he did not."

"Go on."

"Lemaire told us that the Baron's men had taken Aramis so we went to his estate to question him."

"What did he tell you?"

"He admitted that Aramis had been there but said he had left. We didn't believe him so we searched the house."

"And, found no sign of him." The Baron was beginning to look more relaxed. "It is as I have said all along. He was arrested, questioned, and released."

"We were on the point of leaving," Athos said, ignoring the interruption. "One of the Baron's servants told us that Aramis had been taken to Le Havre to be sold." He was pleased to see a look of shock and annoyance on the Baron's face.

"Who was this servant?"

"I don't know," Athos said, his frustration growing. "It was dark and I only saw him for a short time."

"Very convenient," the Baron murmured snidely.

"You went to Le Havre?"

"Yes. There was only one Spanish ship in the harbour. We boarded her and found Aramis chained in the hold. After we freed him he told us what had happened."

"This in an implausible story," the Baron said. "He could as easily have been taken on the road. These men would say anything to support each other's lies."

"Hey!" Porthos burst out. "You watch your mouth."

Athos closed the distance between him and the Baron and stared into his face. "I am going to overlook the fact you just called me a liar."

Neuville swallowed and took a backwards step.

"Gentlemen," the King said sharply. "This is a court of law. I will have decorum."

"My apologies, Your Majesty." Athos bowed towards the King.

"Do you have anything to add to your testimony?" Rochefort asked.

"Only that Aramis had clearly been beaten. You can see the bruises on his face. I can assure you there are many more you can't see. And, one more thing. If he had been taken to Spain he would have been tortured for information about the King's security. The Baron put the safety of France in jeopardy by his actions." He bowed again to the King and rejoined his brothers.

"You have heard the evidence against you," the King said. "What do you have to say in your defence?"

Baron Neuville stepped closer to the dais. "The Musketeer, Aramis, has no honour. He seduced my wife and ruined my marriage. He deserves to be punished but I deny playing any part in the events that befell him. How can you take the word of a philandering womaniser against the sworn testimony of a nobleman? Think of the precedent you would set if you accepted the evidence of a commoner. I will not say that I am sorry he was taken prisoner by the Spanish and it would have warmed my heart if he had been taken to Madrid. Not because of the risk to Your Majesty, but because he would have suffered as I have suffered by the loss of my wife."

"It's hardly the same thing," the King said. "He would have been subjected to excruciating pain."

"You think I haven't suffered pain? My life has been ruined by that man." He pointed an accusing finger at Aramis.

"I do not condone his affair with your wife, Baron, but I find Aramis to be a compelling witness. He is not just a common soldier. He is a member of my elite regiment and I do not make mistakes when appointing a man to be a Musketeer."

"You would convict me on his word alone?" the Baron asked in astonishment.

"I'm sure if we were to question your men we would find more witnesses to support his story. Between what he has told me and Athos' evidence I find sufficient proof of your guilt. By your actions you not only caused harm to Aramis, you also compromised the safety of the realm. That, Baron, is treason."

Athos unobtrusively slipped his arm around Aramis' waist to support him. His friend was shaking so violently that he was surprised the man was still upright. He could see the Baron wilting under the stare of everyone in the room even though he was clearly no coward. There was no begging and pleading for mercy and his expression was one of resignation to his fate.

"It is only because I accept that you were provoked that I have decided to spare your life. You will be taken to the Bastille and detained at my pleasure. One day, Baron, you may see the sun again. Oh, and your estates are forfeit to the Crown." The King stood up and everyone except the Baron bowed. "Rochefort, come, we have much to discuss."

Athos tightened his grip. "It is over." He felt Aramis slump against him. "It's time to go home."

TMTMTM

For a week after the trial Aramis kept mainly to his room. He would appear at mealtimes, eat sparingly, and then withdraw from the company of his friends. During that time his bruises faded and he began to put back some of the weight he had lost during the preceding eleven months. His friends gave him the space he needed to come to terms with events although they were becoming increasingly concerned. Then, one afternoon, he joined them in the yard.

"I think I would like to go to a tavern," he said.

They went to The Wren and Athos ordered two bottles of wine.

"How do you feel?"

"Better." Aramis toyed with his glass. "I have something I need to say." He drew in a shaky breath. "I owe you all my life and not just because you saved me from the Spanish. Your friendship gave me the strength to survive in the Bastille."

"You know we would never desert you," Porthos said, squeezing his shoulder fondly.

"I know. You helped me to see that withdrawing from this life wasn't what I wanted or needed. Without your persistence I would now be locked in a monastery regretting my choices."

"We would never have allowed that to happen," d'Artagnan said with a warm smile. "You are our brother and your place is here."

He acknowledged that with a fond smile that was almost restored to its former glory. "There's more. Your steadfast loyalty made me realise that I could only move forward by forgiving myself for what happened. That was the real key to my salvation. I will not regret the time I spent with Louisa. While I wish she had turned to me when she found she was with child, that wasn't to be. I would have liked to have met my daughter." He cleared his throat which had become clogged with emotion and raised his glass. "To brotherhood."

His three friends looked at him solemnly before raising their own glasses. "To brotherhood."

The End


End file.
